"Pseudologica fantastica."
"Is that -- there's really a name for it?"
"There's a name for everything. At first, it starts as a small lie to improve their own self esteem."
"Everybody does that..."
"Not everyone, but, sure, a lot of people do. But what happens to a person like this is -- the part of their brain that tells them when people aren't buying their bullshit -- it doesn't work. So the lie just gets bigger and grander and more outrageous. And the interesting twist is that the more fantastical the lies get, the more the innocent people start believing them.
"It's funny, but it's true."
- Brian Michael Bendis, Alias #9
"Pseudologica Fantastica"
Yes. I am a liar.
It's not something I'm terribly proud of (except for the one about Better Than Ezra having named themselves that to spite a band called Ezra that was eventually forced to change their name to Barenaked Ladies).
I'd stop lying, but honestly, what else am I going to say to you people?
"A Letter to Paul from the Apostle"
I'm probably the last person in the world who should accuse anyone of swiping jokes from me, but I swear to God, I'm pretty sure I came up with this 24 bit. I think we talked about it once after Prof. Mo's class Winter Semester 2002.
But what do I know? I'm a fucking liar.
"Chronicles of the Antarctic"
Since I'm convinced I'm not going to make it as a professional writer, I've decided to become a historian instead, because the way I see it, I can take all that creativity I think I've got, and just make up history.
I'm setting my sights low: The Complete History of Antarctica!
As soon as it snows, I'm going to go to a field and start fabricating pictures of Antarctic Artifacts detailing the Iron Age of polar bears (which came to an abrupt end when they realized they didn't have opposable digits with which to grasp the metal tools they'd fashioned), as well as the rise of the penguin empire under the rule of Mai'keth, the Great Emperor Penguin who killed the last dinosaur and lead 300 warrior penguins (you know, like those cute little guys with rockets strapped to their backs at the end of Batman Returns) as they held off legions of feral baby seals on the Filchner Ice Shelf in 137 BC.
Sure it's a total crock of shit... But who's going to call me on it? I'll have the pictures and artifacts, and if an actual historian wants to prove me wrong, they'll have to haul their fat ass all the way down to the South Pole. And it's cold down there. Real cold.
They say that history's written by the winners. Well, I know one total loser who's about to prove them wrong.
"The Sixth Short Story by Lenar Clark"
I'm currently "working" on a deconstructionist detective story about trust and fidelity in the face of adultery through the eyes of a newly wed private investigator who's realized he's never actually solved a mystery in all his years.
Part of the proposed fun of this premise is to play with the conventions of the traditional detective narrative, contrasting the private dick archetype -- Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe -- to the same sensitive, self-aware/indulgent whiner I always write in my fiction -- The Little Black Duck. To that end, I'm interviewing an actual private investigator as research, because I hear that this is the type of thing "real writers" -- not be confused with "journalists" (Why oh why must you always open that can of worms?!) -- do.
...
I'm thinking about looking into the insurance business once I graduate. Maybe I can actually make a living as an insurance salesmen or claims specialist. It's either that or back to the library... and I don't think they'd take me back.
NEXT:
Interview with the Vampire
"Is that -- there's really a name for it?"
"There's a name for everything. At first, it starts as a small lie to improve their own self esteem."
"Everybody does that..."
"Not everyone, but, sure, a lot of people do. But what happens to a person like this is -- the part of their brain that tells them when people aren't buying their bullshit -- it doesn't work. So the lie just gets bigger and grander and more outrageous. And the interesting twist is that the more fantastical the lies get, the more the innocent people start believing them.
"It's funny, but it's true."
- Brian Michael Bendis, Alias #9
"Pseudologica Fantastica"
Yes. I am a liar.
It's not something I'm terribly proud of (except for the one about Better Than Ezra having named themselves that to spite a band called Ezra that was eventually forced to change their name to Barenaked Ladies).
I'd stop lying, but honestly, what else am I going to say to you people?
"A Letter to Paul from the Apostle"
I'm probably the last person in the world who should accuse anyone of swiping jokes from me, but I swear to God, I'm pretty sure I came up with this 24 bit. I think we talked about it once after Prof. Mo's class Winter Semester 2002.
But what do I know? I'm a fucking liar.
"Chronicles of the Antarctic"
Since I'm convinced I'm not going to make it as a professional writer, I've decided to become a historian instead, because the way I see it, I can take all that creativity I think I've got, and just make up history.
I'm setting my sights low: The Complete History of Antarctica!
As soon as it snows, I'm going to go to a field and start fabricating pictures of Antarctic Artifacts detailing the Iron Age of polar bears (which came to an abrupt end when they realized they didn't have opposable digits with which to grasp the metal tools they'd fashioned), as well as the rise of the penguin empire under the rule of Mai'keth, the Great Emperor Penguin who killed the last dinosaur and lead 300 warrior penguins (you know, like those cute little guys with rockets strapped to their backs at the end of Batman Returns) as they held off legions of feral baby seals on the Filchner Ice Shelf in 137 BC.
Sure it's a total crock of shit... But who's going to call me on it? I'll have the pictures and artifacts, and if an actual historian wants to prove me wrong, they'll have to haul their fat ass all the way down to the South Pole. And it's cold down there. Real cold.
They say that history's written by the winners. Well, I know one total loser who's about to prove them wrong.
"The Sixth Short Story by Lenar Clark"
I'm currently "working" on a deconstructionist detective story about trust and fidelity in the face of adultery through the eyes of a newly wed private investigator who's realized he's never actually solved a mystery in all his years.
Part of the proposed fun of this premise is to play with the conventions of the traditional detective narrative, contrasting the private dick archetype -- Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe -- to the same sensitive, self-aware/indulgent whiner I always write in my fiction -- The Little Black Duck. To that end, I'm interviewing an actual private investigator as research, because I hear that this is the type of thing "real writers" -- not be confused with "journalists" (Why oh why must you always open that can of worms?!) -- do.
...
I'm thinking about looking into the insurance business once I graduate. Maybe I can actually make a living as an insurance salesmen or claims specialist. It's either that or back to the library... and I don't think they'd take me back.
NEXT:
Interview with the Vampire
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