I have met plenty of people over my life time. Some “normal” (at lease in how society views normality), some unique, and others insane (legally, that is). I have learned from my experiences with people that humans are a very curious species. Once you tell them something, all they have for you is questions. I am a writer, a poet, a vegetarian, and more; so, of course, I make a fascinating subject (and yes, I am being sarcastic). I’ve found that every question I have ever been asked always falls into one of three different categories, who the person asking usually has little to no real influence on the question.
Ace of Spades
The first category are those one-of-a-kind questions, you know the ones that are so unique, yet so damn simple to answer (well most of the time). I tend to get these types of questions from the supposedly unique and insane, though every now and then a “normal” person might spout one off as well. These questions normally pertain to my writing and occasionally to my sanity. I get questions like: What is the color of Tranquillian blood? (my dear friend Yuki asked this), Because you write of dying and murder, does it mean you want to kill someone? (Liz contributed this), etc. My favorite question would have to be the one I received when I was visiting my father, at an insanity ward. I was having a nice chat with a young man, may be around two or three years my elder, when he handed me an ace of spades and asked, “Are you insane?” Later I found out he was a patient there; which made the question even more interesting, since I have been told the insane have a “skill” for recognizing insanity. I still have that ace of spades, though I never did learn its significance.
Everyone who has any normal (or semi-normal) hobby or life, for that matter, knows about these kinds of questions. They’re the ones you’re asked so many times you just want to scream at the next person who asks it. These are the questions that you have the answers branded into your brain; so much so, that you’re sure if for any reasons your brain is removed the doctors will find the answers there. Now here is just a few of them:
How are you? (Not that you really care, I’m about to go insane, how ‘bout you?)
How do you get your ideas? (Sell my soul to whoever’s buying… usually a devil.)
Who’s your favorite author? (That damn b*****d that was born before me and beat me to the best seller.)
How do you get your novels to be so long? (Keep writing ‘til your fingers bleed.)
Do you ever get writers block? (Do humans breathe?)
What’s the longest poem you’ve ever written? (Four pages, 17 paragraphs, 1,769 words, damn is there any other numerical expression for it…Probably…)
How do you get rid of your writer’s block? (Same way I get my ideas.)
Oh and there are even more! But I think I’ll save your sanity by not telling you them all. Aren’t I sweet? Bah.
Why Did You Ask THAT?
These are the type of questions I love and hate the most. These are the questions that deceptively appear easy. The misleading evils, like a stranger with candy, that seem so sweet and innocent. But we’ve been taught what evils await us if we’re drawn into his/her car. To the “normal” people these questions seem so simple, so they ask, but ho! See what black holes they open. The question I get the most comes usually after people discover I have never published any of my novels, nor really care to get them published. That simple beauty that is… “Why bother?” Oh how this question unsettles and rattles me to the core. Why do I bother, why does anyone bother? Do I do it for enjoyment, or do I do it because my novels are my dirty little secret my friends and I are the only ones privy to see? Why oh why? Then I get to questioning every why. And I just plummet further from the original question in my mad thoughts. So the simple ones usually have the greatest effect on me (that’s why I avoid normal people). Thus all questions fall into one of these three categories. Perhaps now you will think before you ever ask a question.
Manage Your Items