Preface
My grandpa would always ask me, “how’s my good boy?” I would always say “good” because I’m clever. Plus I’ve always indeed viewed myself as a good boy. Later in his life my grandpa started losing his health but not his sense of humour[1]. Instead of asking if I’m a good boy like a caring grandparent, he would ask me if I wanted to hear a joke. He didn’t deliver his normal joke, the kind of joke he would tell a nurse in one of his visits to the hospital when she told him she was about to draw blood: where’s your red crayon. Instead, the punch line WAS that I was a good boy. Like he was saying the opposite, that I am not a good boy. Never has an old man’s laughter made me feel so conflicted. On one hand, great joke grandpa. You had me going for 20 years. That’s Andy Kaufman like commitment[2].
On the other hand (It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous) It made me contemplate whether or not I was a good boy. The only way for me to be sure is to recount tales of my youth and have the reader decide if I am good or bad. It’s not going to be boring like the Heptaméron, but one thing will be similar; I will not actually complete 100 tales, which is the benchmark for good writing. I’m a quitter just like that quitter Marguerite De Navarre who took the easy way out and decided to die before finishing her work.
A more manageable number is 14, one story for each 7 deadly sin and one for each of the 7 virtues that Catholics made up because they like their milk to fill up half the glass. The only problem with this structure is, I can’t remember a lot of what happened in my lifetime. I have decided to just go ahead and write out my stories with the subjective memories I contain, and supplement them with memories that may or may not be more accurately called lies. I realize lying to you probably leans the scale in favor of bad boy (which is ok because girls love bad boys) but I’m confident this will turn out good for me. If nothing else, I will have wasted a lot of time writing something that proves me a terrible person and everybody I love will abandon me. But I won’t be doing drugs and THAT is good.
On the other hand (It’s a good thing I’m ambidextrous) It made me contemplate whether or not I was a good boy. The only way for me to be sure is to recount tales of my youth and have the reader decide if I am good or bad. It’s not going to be boring like the Heptaméron, but one thing will be similar; I will not actually complete 100 tales, which is the benchmark for good writing. I’m a quitter just like that quitter Marguerite De Navarre who took the easy way out and decided to die before finishing her work.
A more manageable number is 14, one story for each 7 deadly sin and one for each of the 7 virtues that Catholics made up because they like their milk to fill up half the glass. The only problem with this structure is, I can’t remember a lot of what happened in my lifetime. I have decided to just go ahead and write out my stories with the subjective memories I contain, and supplement them with memories that may or may not be more accurately called lies. I realize lying to you probably leans the scale in favor of bad boy (which is ok because girls love bad boys) but I’m confident this will turn out good for me. If nothing else, I will have wasted a lot of time writing something that proves me a terrible person and everybody I love will abandon me. But I won’t be doing drugs and THAT is good.
[1] I’ve always wanted to be British
[2] Commitment is one of my biggest fears. I even had to have a friend write that part for me. It won’t appear again
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