Punch my Gut and Call me Pretty

I just don’t know anymore…

My novel is set in the 90s. I understand and realize now how cruel and unfair we were to our parents when they waxed nostalgic about their “good old days”. I never thought I’d find myself at the ass end of my 30s, pining like an idiot for the simplicity and transparency I experienced in the 90s.

Even though my novel is set in the 90s, it is not explicitly so. I understand I may catch some crap for being vague about my setting but I seriously can’t give less of a rat’s ass about it. It’s also set in my home town of Hermosillo, Mexico. Also not explicitly. Being read by anyone in this day and age without these facts being stated directly is going to make it seem like the whole thing is taking place in another dimension, I now regretfully appreciate. Or maybe not. Maybe the lack of mention for any modern technology will make the thing awaken some aching sense of need for actual human communication in readers (all four of them).

I fell in love with the concept of captatio benevolentiae when I studied Don Quixote in college. What that means is basically stating you’re gonna be horrible at something and you apologize in advance to your audience for the audacity, and then usually proceed to hit it out of the park. It’s what Casey would have expressed with his first two strikes if he’d actually managed to pull a run at the end of the game. In the case of Don Quixote, Cervantes kinda just went on and on about how his attempts at writing were limp-wristed and possibly uninteresting, then HE WROTE DON QUIXOTE; I mean, it’s the equivalent of a magician bowing to the crowd, sheepishly stating he’s new at this and then turning around and pulling the Titanic out of his ass.

 I evolved into a so-called adult with that sort of self-deprecating tint to the way I presented myself. I participated in eight karaoke contests, and before each performance I always did a whole gladiator salute to my audience of Caesars. I never won. This is pretty deeply ingrained into my personality now, and I have to wonder if I’ve benefitted more than I’ve held myself back because of it. It’s certainly kept me humble in a way, but only to myself. I can only imagine others roll their eyes when I say I’m gonna suck at something and then kill it. Or manage not to suck, at least. The downside is that I can no longer determine with any certainty the extent of my talents. I’m working on it, I promise… by blogging instead of working on my novel :D