Wired Differently Am I

I never truly realized just how differently I'm wired when it comes to writing until I started going through an old longish (19 page) short story that I'm currently rewriting using my Dragon voice software. I was refreshing my short term memory on what it was I exactly wrote the other day when I started reading the few short story snippets that were peppered within the overall story, as well as skimming through the various sections of the overall story as well, and I came to the delightful conclusion that my writing is somewhat on the darkishly funny side, aka black humor.

Basically, the plot of the story is that a writer (original name of Georgie) took a day off from work to do a little writing. I originally created the story of a writer writing because I had a bunch of short story snippets (4 short snippets, ranging from a couple of paragraphs to about 4 pages in length) that were gathering dust on my hard drive and I wanted to get rid of them, so to speak.

Anywho, the opening paragraphs kind of sets the tone for the rest of the story. To whit:

1} Georgie's job is unspecified, but...
2} Georgie's wife is a debt collector;
3} Georgie's kids are going to school to become street hustlers;
4} Georgie's mother is a typical senior citizen who spends days at the casino.

The story itself chronicles a day in the life of Georgie as he attempts to do some writing but keeps suffering from people interruptus whenever he gets on a roll with his writing. All of the snippets featured within the story are uniformly black, with one being NC-17 (yes, I was writing that kind of stuff way back when this was originally written in '09).

Anyways, I want to share with you a snippet of a story, all of two paragraphs in length, that basically solidifies my personal opinion of being wired differently than everyone else, mostly because I found this snippet wickedly funny. I may keep this snippet, if only it blends perfectly with what follows next. Hope you like.

Al never really got used to the sound of metal on flesh, and he sure as hell wasn't used to the smell of hot oil burning through bone and meat, the way it soaked through his clothes and skin. The way it made taste everything gnarly and disgusting. He never got used to any of that stuff, but he dealt with it to the best of his ability.

The one thing that he never got used to, and in fact was the main reason why got he got shitfaced every night, were the screams. Sometimes loud, sometimes staccato, sometimes wordless, they nevertheless had one thing depressingly in common: they all met their Lord Savior in the end. No matter what he tried to do to kill the sound, whether it was wearing earplugs or airport style earmuffs, the screams still managed to penetrate his brain.

(c) 2014 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.