About The Next Untitled

Post 172:

            I bet there’s a guy sitting in a house somewhere with the great American novel being used to prop up one of the corners of his coffee table. He wrote it, though no one else but him will ever even know it exists.

            I bet there’s a girl with the greatest voice God ever felt fit to bestow sitting in her apartment, going over her calculus so she can get a good grade and move on to the next practical step in her practical life.

            The smartest kid in the world probably lives in some tiny village in China but only his parents and a few of the locals will ever know of his genius, the little of it they can even begin to comprehend.

            I’d lay odds that the greatest artist in the world has never even held a paintbrush. It’s all in her head and she sees things so beyond the scope of the person next to her, she doesn’t even think to talk about it. It’s a stored secret, hers and hers alone.

            This is what I call a set of the unproven. It’s a little weird, I know, but I have a strange imagination. The cool thing about the unproven is that it can’t be disproven. It’s why we create stories and suspend disbelief. What if all these things are true? Wouldn’t it make for a good story?

            It goes to veracity. That there’s always someone out there pushing the boundaries of what we think is possible is probably a fact, even if it’s not always observable. I think it’s true. I think it’s true, maybe just because I want to. And maybe I like knowing there’s always mystery surrounding us, a good story that hasn’t been told, and may never be.

            By the way, I met the first guy. His coffee table is now wobbling and publishers should be getting my manuscript of Untitled in the mail shortly.

            Cheers ye magistrates and noblemen. See you after.