The finger a sentence
the hand a paragraph
the arm a chapter
the body a novel.
Each house a Proust
or a Scott Fitzgerald
next to a Virginia Woolf
or an Ernest Hemingway
down the way from Tom Sawyer
and Huckleberry Finn,
and bound within the walls
of a library, the city.
There are so many marvelous ways to think about human beings. Such a diverse clan we are. Some of us have brown eyes, others blue or green or hazel. Some of us are Catholic, some Protestant, some Hindu, some Jewish, some Moslem, some Buddhist. Others atheist or middle-of-the-road agnostic.
Some are poets, some singers of tales. Some dancers, some performers on a stage. Some gardeners, some vintners or builders. We laugh. We cry. We love and we lust and there is not one that isn’t part of something bigger and more wonderful than ourselves. Aren’t we amazing?
Who is to say that extra terrestrials might not like us?
One thing is for sure. We are each the summation of our experience. We see through a lens those experiences have given us. Each of us could write a hundred novels and still not be finished with the raw material.
When I think about what kind of novel, I wonder. I definitely do not have The Answer to that one. I have to uncheck historical epic. Nothing Game-of-Thronesying about my existence. I sure am not porn. My sex life is definitely not that interesting. Could it be that I am a romance? Probably not. As far as I know, I have not made women swoon or their hearts go pitter-pat. And I am not a Western. I don’t wear cowboy boots and I don’t know “Get along, little doggy”.
I definitely am not science fiction. I am not that technologically inclined. And there’s little doubt that I am fantasy. Ain’t no way I would go off with a bunch of dwarves and slay a dragon. I am not that much of a mystery. My life is pretty an open book. So Sam Spade, stay away.
As far as horror is concerned, I am pretty sure that I am not Dracula or Jason or Freddy Kruger. I do have blackouts during the full moon. But that just means that I need to cut the sugar and eat more protein.
If I have a genre, it has to be a comedy. I might just be one of those boys Tom Sawyer convinced to paint his aunt’s fence.
So what genre do you think you belong to?