When it comes to fiction, I haven’t been into writing for very long. I’ve written out my thoughts, feelings, and aspirations for years in an effort to be more self aware, but not without being part of a certain movement or philosophy. Not without that introspective intent. I’m going to omit the name of it, but my point is that before I was part of something else. Now there’s only Jack. Only me.
A slightly off-kilter human being.
And, of course, there are my fictional writings, all of them short and none of them amounting to much in terms of quantity. Maybe not in quality either, but aside from realistically assessing my work as a ‘newbie’ I’m not going to put myself down or look down my nose at my own work. Especially not when it’s the source of what I’ve got on my mind right now, which comes down to a question:
Do we really decide who we are?
The more I write the more I wonder about that.