why i am a coward

Okay. That previous post was complete crap. Can I start every post that way? I am still trying to determine what it is that I want to write about here.

You are probably wondering, “Who the hell is this hollowwell person, anyway?” (Although, I suppose it is somewhat pompous of me to assume that anyone would really care. But, you know, for the sake of argument...).

Well, let me tell you who I am...

I am a green, immature writer who (hopes to) release(s) stories under an anonymous pseudonym. At risk of being less anonymous than the moniker implies, I will note that I am a successful professional, fairly far advanced along my career path. I have come upon moderate success after years and years of honing my skills.

If I were to write something “controversial” would it jeopardize the opportunities that I have in my professional life? I don’t know. And since I am a coward, I have decided not to find out.

I want to be free to say whatever I want in my writing. I feel like I would moderate myself too much if a professional search on my name resulted in links filled with possibly offensive etchings or ideas. So, at least until I am guaranteed to scoop up gobs of money with my writing [1], I shall remain hollowwell, the anonymous.

[1] As I am somewhat advanced along my professional career, I understand that many of the writers that I love to read have spent an equivalent amount of time honing their skills. I know of the years of toil that it takes to achieve moderate success in one’s career. I have no illusion that my uneducated, inferior scribblings will afford me the existence to which my favorite authors have achieved. I have few illusions[2] that I will be pulling in “gobs of money” any time soon.

[2] I may have few illusions, but I still have big dreams.[3]

[3] I’m stealing my footnoting style from author Stina Lecht.[4]

[4] Or perhaps, House of Leaves which I have been reading.

i really enjoy lying

I really enjoy lying.

When the body is lost in a very dark place, the soul screams for any sort of external stimuli. If there are none, then counterfeit experiences spontaneously arise. Some might call these experiences illusions or hallucinations. Let us, dear friends, call them fictions.

I now spend some portion of my time fantasizing about conveying these fictions in written form. And so, to here my lies shall be fed.

Please forgive my fictions, for I am callow and unsophisticated in my writing. I have no goal other than to, perchance, be read once or more.

Comment if you desire and I will respond with... fictions.