As it stands right now, I have five completed short stories that I will be submitting to various publications. Of those five, I still like four of them. Among those four, there are two that I believe are the true standouts. Of course, I will submit all five anyway, plus two more whenever I finish those. I want as much of me floating out there as possible.
What a metaphor.
With any good writer, it is easy to see the pieces of themselves that they have put into their work. Some protagonists are thinly-veiled versions of the authors themselves. Sometimes the antagonists are the easiest to identify with. Sometimes their story is set in the author’s hometown, and you can tell that he knows every nook and cranny of his old neighborhood. Sometimes it’s situational; the author puts his characters through a situation that he himself has been in. These are the ways that stories become real. This is how we connect. This is why we care.
I said a long time ago that I would never write an autobiography. If someone were to read my stories, they would know who I am. Every character, every setting, every situation has a small part of me in there somewhere. It’s all a matter of putting together the pieces—which, after talking to my wife and my close friends, I’ve realized isn’t all that different from knowing me in real life.
I am a guarded person. I don’t know why. As far as I know, there is no single traumatic event that caused me to be wary of opening up to other people. I’ve just always had a difficult time with it. Call it shyness, call it awkward social skills, call it whatever you want. Unfortunately, it’s just how I am.
When I do get published, which me will readers think they know?