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In Which I Am a Sociopath
Jun. 13th, 2015 09:05 amAfter not nearly enough time away, I'm back in Georgia for five days. That's one day to drive here, one day to drive back, and three days to hate myself and wish I was never born.
So there's this boy from the Southern Gothic town where my parents live that I dated briefly during the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He was kind of gross, but I was a scholarship student at a private school in Atlanta, and so I think he must have seemed strange and exotic to me. I was quickly disabused of this notion and tried to wash my hands of him, but it's been easier said than done.
This kid has been creepily stalking me across various social media platforms and creepily trying to stay in touch with me for years, and it's been creepy. Last week, he creepily messaged me on Facebook and creepily said that he knows I'd be in town this weekend. Fuck me, but I actually entertained the notion of responding to him.
I'm caught up in half a dozen projects right now, but one day I want to be able to write a collection of linked short stories about this part of Georgia. The collection would be called "Jackson Lake," and it would revolve around the fact that a lot of people died when a village was flooded in the process of making the reservoir early in the twentieth century. I know this sounds like a cliché of genre fiction, but it happens to be a real thing that really happened here.
Each of the twelve stories is going to be narrated by a different character, and one of those characters is going to be based on my creepy stalker. I therefore sort of want to meet with him and use the opportunity to ask personal and invasive questions about his life...
...but not really. As an actual person, he is boring and sad and has no redeeming qualities. As a character in my head, he is fascinating and tragic and has made painful yet interesting choices. I therefore think it's more productive – and less uncomfortably creepy – if he remains largely a fictional construct.
So there's this boy from the Southern Gothic town where my parents live that I dated briefly during the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He was kind of gross, but I was a scholarship student at a private school in Atlanta, and so I think he must have seemed strange and exotic to me. I was quickly disabused of this notion and tried to wash my hands of him, but it's been easier said than done.
This kid has been creepily stalking me across various social media platforms and creepily trying to stay in touch with me for years, and it's been creepy. Last week, he creepily messaged me on Facebook and creepily said that he knows I'd be in town this weekend. Fuck me, but I actually entertained the notion of responding to him.
I'm caught up in half a dozen projects right now, but one day I want to be able to write a collection of linked short stories about this part of Georgia. The collection would be called "Jackson Lake," and it would revolve around the fact that a lot of people died when a village was flooded in the process of making the reservoir early in the twentieth century. I know this sounds like a cliché of genre fiction, but it happens to be a real thing that really happened here.
Each of the twelve stories is going to be narrated by a different character, and one of those characters is going to be based on my creepy stalker. I therefore sort of want to meet with him and use the opportunity to ask personal and invasive questions about his life...
...but not really. As an actual person, he is boring and sad and has no redeeming qualities. As a character in my head, he is fascinating and tragic and has made painful yet interesting choices. I therefore think it's more productive – and less uncomfortably creepy – if he remains largely a fictional construct.
