WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN WHEN YOU DIE? Life is too good for Michael Sojourner to stop and think about it. He’s got it all: a home in the hills, fancy cars, a nice bank account. Producing movies in Hollywood, he even gets to date a lot of hopeful starlets. Life couldn't be better for Michael Sojourner, at least until, after a long night of drinking, he wakes up and, where the hell is he? On a dirt floor, in a hallway. The last thing he remembers, he’d been going home with another hopeful starlet. Maybe she’d slipped him something then dumped him. His Rolex was missing, his iPhone was missing, his wallet was missing, maybe she’d taken his Ferrari, too. But where’d she dump him? Michael got up and wiped the dirt from his hands. In the distance there was some kind of a faint roar, like from a furnace. There was also a distinct smell of sulfur in the air, like rotten eggs. Maybe he was in Chinatown. That hopeful starlet, she’d had a Euro-Asian quality to her, so maybe she had connections in Chinatown, too. Maybe that noise up ahead was a laundry. This was going to make for a great story, if nothing else. Maybe he’d make a movie out of this. He was already getting ideas, and that hopeful starlet, well, that bitch would never work in this town again. Hell, she was going to serve jail time for this. Walking towards the noise and the light, Michael Sojourner embarks on a journey which will teach him about redemption, forgiveness, karma, and empathy; leaving him forever changed.
AN INTERVIEW WITH MYSELF This interview first appeared in my head October 30th, 2009
How long have you been writing?
Who am I? How can I ask myself questions?
There are people who want to know, the audience.
I’ve been writing since sixth grade. I’m prolifically unpublished.
Why do you write?
I write because I want to know how it turns out. I write because it’s my answer to impermanence. I write because I don’t feel like I have a choice. I write because writing helps me know myself. I write because writing keeps me in touch with my humanity and the humanity of this world. I write because suffering is as beautiful and as natural to life as winter is to summer and spring is to fall. I write because writing helps me not to feel alone. I write so others will know that they are not alone. I write because it moves me. I write because writing is a gateway to my heart.
Nice. That was nice. Thanks.
You’re welcome.
What do you write about?
What gives life meaning? How can we live more fully and with more happiness?
That’s it?
I have found this to be pervasive, in myself and in others, that there’s this feeling of not being good enough, this feeling of inadequacy, of insufficiency, of deficiency, as if this moment isn’t enough, as if we’re not enough, as if we’re trying to get somewhere before we can rest and be happy. If only we could do this or if only we could get that, then we could rest and truly enjoy life. It’s as if we’re always putting it off, trying to get to some perfect destination. How can we live more fully and with more enjoyment right now? This is what interests me. I write about people realizing the ways in which they have been their own worst enemies, then realizing that they are also their own best friends. I write about the great abyss that all of us are standing before and how we look at it. I write about loss. Of course, what I’m writing about, is my own heart. The struggles, joys, difficulties, loves and hardships of my own heart.
Why are you putting your work here?
I’m not good at targeting the right market and then sending my writing to the right person. That doesn’t interest me. I just want to write. The business of writing, well, it’s a lot of business. I don’t want to be in business. I want to write. What wants to be written is what gets written. In publishing, there seems to be a lot of formula writing and guessing about what certain markets might want. Literary agents and publishers, they’re like junkies at the race-track, trying to figure out which horse is going to be the next winner. They want authors with established markets. They want people who are famous. They want books like other books that have already done well. I’m interested in being authentic. I’m not interested in being like somebody else. I just want to write. This is me. This is my writing. I have no idea what genre I would fit in. I don’t think literary agents (laughing) or publishing houses do either. Maybe if I sell a lot of books here, then they’ll be interested in publishing me. I’m not worried about it. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen. That’s not what it’s about for me. I enjoyed writing these stories. They entertained me and I hope they entertain others. They helped me learn about life, helped me come to terms with different aspects of life, and I hope they help others too. If others read these stories and enjoy them and learn some things along the way too, then that’s great. That’s all that matters.
What’s the next step for your writing?
I’d like to find an editor. Everything I’ve written is very raw. That’s good in its own way. It’s pure. It’s straight from my heart, but I’m very much not an editor. I’m a writer. To me they’re two very different jobs. I write and just let it all come out.
The first turn comes quickly in this book, and then the unexpected just keeps coming and coming. It's a great take on an age old perspective (you'll know what I mean when you read it). The main character has a bunch of adventures, and interactions with others, leaving you with a bunch of very intimate views into the lives of others. It's fantastic, the way it ends. I know you'll enjoy this story.
I really thought it was rather thought provoking and an interesting concept. I was a little dreary of some of the repetitive thoughts and conversations. I also was hoping for a little more of a spectacular ending after all of the creativity that went into the various 'life scenes'. All in all though, I have recommended it as a good read to others :)