January 25
Perhaps I’m being too optimistic, but I have a good feeling about the work to come this year. I feel that I’ve finally turned a creative corner. Whereas previously I was trying to keep my stories somewhat in line with the confines of reality and common sense, I now recognize that I must divorce myself from these parameters. Otherwise, I run the risk of seeing a near-exact copy of what I’ve written appear in next week’s news headlines, rendering my “fiction” at best derivative, and at worst plagiarized. In truth, it would be more accurate to call it psychic, but is there really anything so impressive about predicting the madness of our world to become even madder?
Last month, I sought to satirize a certain political party’s obsession with fluctuations in the price of common household goods. When they rise, they blame the other party irrespective of its culpability. When they fall, they pat their own party’s politicians on the back irrespective of their contribution to the change. I figured a pointed and humorous way to tackle this hypocrisy would be by redirecting their focus from household goods to something inherently silly, such as the Beanie Baby resale market. Surely you can imagine my surprise upon discovering, after days of drafting, primping, preening, and polishing the story for publication, an identical complaint polluting a New York Post comment section. “Executive incompetence is squarely to blame for Beanie Baby inflation,” it read.
Conclusion: To win, I must go weirder. I must go where even the most inventive conspiracy theorists of our day wouldn’t dare.
February 1
Another failure. I wanted to demonstrate by hyperbole how boundless our nation’s love of guns is by envisioning a preschool with mandatory firearm training before naptime. Naturally, the legislation making this possible was passed in six states yesterday.
What must I do? Portend the end of days? Tell some political tale that somehow ends with the cure for cancer? What can I possibly write that the real world, in all its profoundly baffling glory, won’t immediately plagiarize? And not only must I create something that will still seem original a week later, but it must still be engaging! It must make its readers consider the state of things honestly and introspectively. In short, I can’t simply write “Aliens Raid Pentagon, Seize Sensitive Intelligence” and call it a day. My work requires both originality and substance, regardless of how difficult it is becoming to achieve either quality, let alone both.
On the other hand, given the depth of this dilemma, maybe it behooves me to sacrifice substance for sensation. I do write for a living after all, and my editors have threatened to cut my column if the problem persists. I need a quick, surefire win, and I can’t think of any better way to attack the issue than to go so far beyond the realm of reality that tomorrow’s headlines simply can’t follow me. Substance be damned.
February 2
They’ve taken the Pentagon.
Featured image/photo by Brad Neathery on Unsplash.