FAQ

What are Fictitiously Asked Questions?

Okay, so no one’s asked me these questions. But these are questions that I think either should be asked (so I’ve helpfully put these answers that I’ve been dying to give people, if they would only ask me) or shouldn’t be asked (so I’ve helpfully put these answers so that people don’t have to bug me/intuit some of my common references). Will be updated as I feel the need.

Aren’t you a writer? What have you been writing lately?

Okay, so this is a sensitive question. Even when I’ve been furiously churning out my best stuff, I don’t like talking about what I’ve been writing. I feel like it drains the energy away from it. I will tell you when I finish something. Probably. And if I haven’t been writing much lately, this question will just make me very sad. So leave me alone.

May I ask a question for this page?

Sure! Just note the title. I’ll probably invent a character for you to be, if you do, or at least re-word it in the way that will amuse me most, to fulfill the “fictitious” requirement.

You keep referring to this Spatula God. Are you mad?

Now look, I know it’s hard to believe sometimes, but there’s more to life than one can apprehend with the senses. I, too, was ignorant of Him…once. But one glorious afternoon, I was caught in rush hour traffic–completely stopped on an eight lane divided highway–and I was granted a vision. An immense spatula descended from the heavens and began flipping the cars in front of me out of my way–a true miracle! When I woke from the vision I vowed to devote myself evermore to puzzling out the mysteries of my revelation: of the existence of the Spatula God. He belongs to the pantheon of traffic gods, and, yea, He is the greatest of These; yet He has power in other matters, and as He is on my side and cares for me deeply (having perhaps fewer devotees than other divine presences, He may thus devote Himself more wholeheartedly to these few), He often intercedes on my behalf with the universe.

Why on earth do you complain so much?

I love to complain. Especially to slough off my sincerity and exaggerate my troubles until I don’t even recognize them and feel like they have lives of their own, apart from mine, and now that I’ve given them such weight of reality they can leave me and go off and live those lives. And then I’m free of them. If you don’t like listening to complaints…well, what’s your problem? You’re only reading them, here. You don’t have to imagine my voice whining them. If you don’t like reading complaints…too bad. Complaining is one of my chief methods of entertaining myself.

Why did you bite my head off?

I didn’t. I am not only terribly even-tempered, but also terribly vegetarian (since summer, 1995).

Don’t you think it’s a bit narcissistic to keep a blog?

Yep! I’ve always liked flowers and in fact I suspect I am already turning into one. The kind that wilts in Florida, if you must know.