Writing fireworks

Whenever I try to use my words to change the world, the whole thing usually blows up in my face. Or worse, it just fizzles out, and I’m left holding the dud and mumbling some b.s. about best intentions.

Reminds me of the bottle rocket wars we used to have on the Fourth of July. The big cousins on one side of the pond, firing rockets, the little cousins on the other side, hiding behind some cattails, firing back. I snuck up and got the big kids’ asses with a roman candle. It singed a bunch of holes in their clothes.

Sorry, that had nothing to do with anything.

Oh yeah so I don’t try to accomplish too much with the printed word. I just try to tell a good story. Try to be true and accurate. Don’t worry too much about the consequences.

But with my story “Sassman’s last stand,” I made an exception. I was really hoping the main character would read my story and realize that he’s jeopardizing his health over some really trivial stuff. Maybe in some way my reporting could save him, by suggesting that he give up trying to save everybody else.

Also, to be perfectly honest, I was a little worried that he’d read the story and track me down and put one of those ass-whoopings on me.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. To my relief, he liked the story. Said it was a good article. And — maybe not so much of a surprise, since he’s so wrapped up in his little feud — my story did nothing to change his outlook on life and his health. This is one fight he won’t back down from.

So be it. That suits me just fine.

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