i want BRANDTRUEBOY to be what u get when u dial a wrong number.

k...i meant TAP a wrong number, cuz no one really DIALS anymore.


when i started this blog i let go and let the characters take me places...the best fiction is like a journey, filled with unexpected challenges and pointless exchanges that take on meaning as more clues about the final destination are revealed...the plot i set out for the three of them existed as stations along the way, i didn't always know how we were going to get there, but eventually the passage would make itself known. what i couldn't do, however, was bring about the ending...in which TRUE loses it and cuts off two of her fingers in imitation of sterling. this was to happen after she was raped by fitzcarraldo while she was on one of her blackout drunks. i couldn't do it. i tried to write it out so many times, but i couldn't bring myself to do that to her.

at the end of madame bovary, flaubert leaves emma's dead body on display, sparing his readers nothing...even the way the rigormortis makes her stiffened lips seperate...that is some straight-up shit from a straight-up writer...

maybe i'm not coldhearted enough for this art shit.

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