I was thinking. In bed. Where I do all of my thinking. About what someone might be able to tell about me if they were to sit down and read everything I've ever written. Everything completely fictional, anyway.
So. You know how these thought trains go. I'm thinking - none of my stories have a common thread. I mean, the best thing I've ever written was about incest and I've never written anything else like that. Suddenly, the common thread made itself sickeningly apparent.
There is almost always a sex scene in everything I wrote. Incestuous or no - it's usually not something beautiful. A one nighter here. A loving moment in an unloving marriage. So, you know, the sex just highlights their downfall. It's in everything I write.
And cigarettes? I don't even know where that comes from! I don't smoke cigarettes! My grandfather passed away from lung cancer when he was 65 (so young!) and so I think that killing yourself slowly with cigarettes is probably the dumbest thing you could do ever. But, all my characters do it. Paul smokes only after sex (ha) and Anabel loves it because it's incredibly cliche. Another short story I wrote that I loved starts with a woman sitting at her window, smoking a cigarette and contemplating her life. Then there are some corpses.
I want to know what this says about me.
Next thought on the train is - damn. Where is everything I've written? Scattered on disks and various computers and I start to panic as I realize I don't have one good place to keep all this stuff!
Basically, expect me to start posting vintage writing samples soon. From my youth, so. Please don't make fun.