READING IS FOR CHUMPS, GIMPS AND THONG WEARING MAN FROGS! HELLO – IT’S ME… AGAIN!

I’ve never been much of a fan when it comes to people’s autobiographies though I have seen a number of programmes on the Biography Channel. Of course the only reason why I watched them in the first place was due to the fact they were about my favourite writers such as Stephen King, Anne Rice and Edgar Allen Poe. I have seen other’s ranging from Billy Ray Cyrus to Satan to Vincent Price to Robin Hood and I’ve got to admit most of them are pretty entertaining.

As for reading autobiographies – the only true book I’ve read is ‘IT CAME FROM OHIO an autobiography about one of my childhood influences – R.L. STINE. He created the ‘GOOSEBUMP’ books which were quite popular with young readers in a time before the world was infested with dorky boy wizards and magic schools with extremely shit names. The only other book I’ve read that could even come close to a biographical level is Stephen King’s ‘ON WRITING’ which I’ll come to in a few minutes time but first lets set the scene for those unfortunate saps that lack an imagination.

The sun was shining high in the sky and I guess it was smiling as well. There was a slight breeze going. Cars rushed by and life seemed to be running along without a care in the world. Enter me – dark, depressing, negatively charged, primarily decked in black and walking into town with only one objective on my mind. I had to buy some soap since I was all out.

Not the regular kind but a special antibacterial version known as Dettol Soap. Yellow all round and smells like that stuff you find in swimming pools. Enter the Body Care shop. One of the few places in Coventry where you can buy this magical soap that kills germs and sets my mind at ease. Here’s a little known fact about me – I have a germ phobia and the only soap that tells me that my hands are clean each time I wash them is Dettol Soap.

Anyway – while roaming around in the Body Care shop or rather creeping around and trying to capture the attention of one of the more beautiful girls working near the counter my mind reflected on a passage I came across in Stephen King’s ‘ON WRITING.’

It was in the chapter focused on grammar which he lovingly calls his ‘Toolbox’ and all the other bullshit you learn in English when you are a kid. I shall quote the passage here – ‘Language does not always have to wear a tie and lace up shoes. The object of fiction isn’t grammatical correctness but to make the reader welcome and then tell a story… to make him/her forget, whenever possible, that he/she is reading a story at all.’

That explains a lot.

It feeds into my belief that at the end of the day it’s about the story and telling it in the best way possible. Explains why much of my own fiction or any written work I have done is sometimes plagued with grammatical errors that most people pick up on but don’t have a fucking clue as to why I set out the work the way I did.

One it was in the heat of the moment during rapid composition and two it just makes everything flow more fluidly. Plus I’m all about individuality – so I also do it to separate myself from the rest of the pack.

FUCK IT!

I was never a member to begin with. I’m a lone warrior fighting the world and all the bastards and bitches that have made it their goal to take me down. Looks like you can pick up a few things from reading autobiographical texts after all…

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