Defending fiction

Bhai, k bho ajkal timlai. Khub katha satha fiction lekhne garya chhau ni. Paila paila ko essay sessay harip hunthyo yaar testai lekha.

I think.

Dai, aba ta depression matra huncha non-fiction lekhna thalyo bhane. So many things to complain about, so many things that are not right, you know, and I want to talk, no shout, about them all the time if I write non fiction. At least with fiction I can move around and breathe more freely.

I think you write better non-fiction though.

I was told that in class 7. My stories are terrible, most never make it to the end, and those that do are horribly paced, with no suspense, and there's no good beginning and an end, and very little in between. My commas stop the flow of my stories like the maobadis stop a private car during a nepal banda. My stories flow like a microbus during office-time in Kathmandu.

My non-fiction doesn't flow like koshi either, of course. But there I can break more rules without admitting that I'm doing it. I can put as many commas as I like, or put none, and claim that's what the piece needs, that's my isstaile, and no one can complain about that. I'm not doing this for a class.

I've forgotten what it's like to be funny. My funnies don't seem to translate to Ameringlish. They're forced, and not very clever. I don't have anything to talk about. When I do have something to talk about, it's so cynical, I find it too disturbing for public consumption. Think Swift's modest proposal, but much angrier, and meaner. And poor writing and limited vocabulary and misuse of punctuation and the overuse of the word and, of course. And overusing of course too. And too too. You get the idea. I also talk too much to the second person. And can rarely talk in anything but the first person. Gets boring after a while.

Jo has had the misfortune of reading every one of these. A very disturbed mind it must have unraveled. I know people who have attempted in their fits of boredom to read every one of the posts here. And then got bored after the first three posts. There's limit to how kind you can be to people.

The stories come to me. I swear. I have to think non-fiction, force it upon myself, and craft the jokes, giggling to myself. The stories come out of nowhere. Like this one time during the Winter Break when I had a brilliant idea for a movie. A person whose family is destroyed by the villain does some long-term planning, and after a decade kills the villain in the prison by poisoning his food. And every other prisoner's. The 'hero' is a crazy person himself. You don't show that, obviously. He's the nicest person(not tooo nice though or the smartasses will guess right away) and good with people, with revenge boiling his blood every day. So on. I didn't think it though. It just came to me.

I think I asked  (i forget who it was) how he did his assignments. He joked that they 'just came' to him. I wish cooler things than stories that are not going to be liked, and movie ideas that are not going to be put on paper came to me too. Senti life.