I write stories.

Just not here.

Well, I do. I wrote on the Christmas Cake Saga, The Station Saga, the Phone Saga and my favourite of the lot, Christmas Fracture, which appears to have been mislayed in the epistulization of Aquarionics.

I try not to misrepresent myself, though I should. This past week I’ve deleted more entries than I’ve posted, mostly because I find myself whining (Still homeless, still jobless, still not king yet), meaning that not only am I not exactly at my creative best (I’ve plotted my two main threads of story now, at least vaguely. Can I bring myself to write them though? Like hell) and slightly too busy feeling sorry for myself to get involved in anything else. (Anyone, anyone even thinking of mentioning how little I have to moan about while people are being killed in Iraq will get the full, eight A4 close typed rant about exactly what has brought me to this condition. Also on why there is not – and nor should there be – any relationship between how we should feel and how the government is governing our country. I’m quite entitled to be depressed simply because my goldfish has died, no matter how many points the stock market rose yesterday. I’m digressing. You really should stop me digressing like this, It’s bad for the flow of essay writing. Not that I can write essays, you understand. No matter how much I know about a subject, the essay I write will be crap, simply because people who mark essays all hate me. It’s a conspiracy of evil directed against me. I’ve seen the manuals they’re given! They have samples of my handwriting in case I forge my name! They have guides for how to mark me down for using the word “Didn’t” even if Plato couldn’t have argued with my reasoning! It’s all a ploy to keep me down! I will avenge! I WILL AVENGE!!!!!)

Ahem.

Do you see my point? You should. My point of writing this weblog is to provoke discussion, to entertain, and to keep the people who I should email more informed of my location and situation. It’s all, in other words, an excuse so I don’t have to phone my parents that often. I don’t misrepresent myself, but I will leave out non-relevant information that will either cause me problems or detract from the entertainment value of the post. If I do misrepresent myself, it’s in such a way as to exagerate to the point that it’s fairly obvious what I’m doing. For example, the poorly thought out conspiracy theory above. As far as I am aware, the essay markers of the world are not conspiring against me.

Oh no, they still haven’t beaten the bionic monkies yet.

The idea that a weblog is more than a weblog (It’s a toy! It can pick locks!) and is a carefully considered lie is one that disturbs me, mostly because I tend to believe in the people I read on weblogs. Not what they say (Which is fortunate, else Epistula would have been written in, in order, Java, Perl, Python, C++, Java again, Python once more, and finally Client side Javascript with XLT Transforms) (Mmmmm. Ikky), but in the people who write them. I’m not going to say what I believe of them, for fear of a) embarrisment, and b) libel. But I do.

I read a few fictional diaries, mostly because I know they are fiction. I enjoy meta-fiction (The Dice Man, K-PAX, Stuff that is fiction but is written in first person by the author’s version in that universe) purely because of my multiversal tendancies, and one day I hope to do a fictional diary.

But when I do, I’ll tell you so.

Right now, I’ll concentrate on finding a house, and a job, and a life. Then I’ll see what fiction can offer me.