January 31, 1999
Hacks
Once again, my life has turned weird. Now, to really understand how this all works, you must understand my fundamental belief about my life... not yours, not everybody's, just mine. Throughout the years, I have noticed a peculiar trend among the events of my life: they are excellent fodder for novels. I mean, the sequence and happenings of my life are needless to say interesting. I never make friends the easy way. I either literally trip over them, insult them, or run into them. Love is even stranger.
Now, one of the guiding characteristics to all this is that the book is hopefully well-written. I mean, there has to be an ounce of believable skill to the work. That means no deux ex machina bringing me an instantaneous miraculous solution to the ills of my existence. Neither can there be an exorbitant list of characters. This not an epic movie, but a humble read that should be easy to follow. Now, this has an unusual effect on my relations. If somebody new enters my life, that person has numerous connections to other people I know. For instance, in a recent chapter, I met the e-mail girl who my roommate had talked to about lost keys, who had an English class at the same time next door to my own, and in that class was my roommate's arch-nemesis. See, it was all connected.
Unfortunately, e-mail girl was a surprisingly short-lived character. Sure, she makes appearances occasionally, but otherwise her influence on the plot is zilch. This has happened too many times lately: new characters quickly enter and leave without any to do. It's like my omnipotent author has hit upon writer's block or writer's confusion and is just randomly experimenting with new plot twists. In other words, my life and the imaginative mind behind it has become quite odorously. . . a hack.