Escaping My Dad Through Fiction

Sometimes I wonder how much of the intensity of my ambition comes from having spent the first two decades of my life under the power of an erratic, terrifying, 6’3” man with social power and a prestigious academic position.

See, it’s good when people read my books and enjoy them. That’s what I do this for, right? It’s my favorite!

But it doesn’t fill the gnawing need for success that seems to stem from needing to feel like I’m finally big & powerful enough to be forever safe from men like him.

At another level, I wonder how much my writing is about erasing this world where I’ve been allowed to feel unsafe so I can replace it with a different world where, sure, there are dangers, but never the specific ones that have plagued me most here.

And if I do decide to explore the aspects of the real world that most upset me with my fiction… I’m the god there. I can fix them with the simple act of typing them away.

My fiction is somewhere I don’t have to scream and feel like no one can hear.

The fabric of the universe responds to my every command in my fiction.

I say, Universal Basic Income? The space station has Universal Basic Income.

I say, corporations can’t copyright DNA or lock away culture with excessive copyright law? Done.

Dogs can talk? Cats fly spaceships? Anyone can transform themselves into an otter if they feel like it?

Done, done, and done.

The worlds I create are so much better than the real world I’m stuck in. I can take all the good things from here with me, & leave the bad parts behind.

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