justwrite 1 november

When you picked up this book and opened to the first page, you were startled to find yourself personally involved from the first sentence—the second word, even. You began to question this inclusion. Doesn’t everyone like to feel included? Wouldn’t your life be easier if someone just told you what to do all the time? Well, someone nice, who told you to do interesting things, or maybe just narrated as you did those things. How can you trust anyone to tell you what to do? Is there such a thing as a benevolent dictator? Isn’t every director directing others to work toward his or her own ends, often disregarding the ways and means?

Suddenly you realized that you had made it to the second paragraph of the text without really having any idea what was going on. This is when you started to think about picking up another book.

Sure, there are other books. Take a look around. Without too much trouble, you could probably get your hands on one or two more without leaving.

Really, though. This book is about you. Are you really going to say that you don’t care about such a personally relevant text? How’s your self-esteem these days, anyway?

You don’t like to be mocked.

You turn the page anyway.

Meanwhile, you’re killing time. That’s what this book is about. Right now, anyway. Since it’s about you, I mean. You could do something more interesting, though, and the book would be more interesting…

Short on ideas? Okay, that’s fine. Just play along. I’m the author, anyway.

So, you shrug. Just like that. [No—really shrug. Play along. Shoulders higher, please. Try to touch your ears with your shoulders. Right, that’s better.]