Corky is one of the funniest, most intelligent people I've ever known (no matter that I've rarely gravitated toward the most brilliant minds out there). His style of expression in writing astounds me; it is so fluid and witty and irreverent and unabashed. He puts it out there like he could not possibly care less how it's taken. His writing closely mirrors his speech; he's always blunt, candid, frank and hilarious.
The main problem with my writing is that I tend to be too analytical, philosophical and long-winded. I can neither bring myself to imitate Corky's style nor even to incorporate it a little bit in my own. I can also come off as being too critical, even when my criticism is strictly tongue-in-cheek.
I decided after serious deliberation to give it a whirl, even though I ain't real good at it. I realize that just because the things I write about happened to me, it doesn't mean they're interesting. I can only hope that y'all can relate to my struggle to make sense of it.
Part two of "Your name is Peter..." will arrive here sometime soon; twelve-hour workdays drain me and leave little time for self-indulgent diversions (add to that a wife recovering from doctors making like they were doing laundry the old-fashioned way inside her in order to deliver our son and remove her cantaloupe-sized fibroid...).
SPOILER ALERT: Part two may turn out to be sad. It is an essential part of my story, and it will show you clearly exactly where I'm coming from. I promise after this not to be nearly so serious, once I have firmly established why I am.
AFTERTHOUGHTS: 1) The saying, "The apple does not fall far from the tree," applies in most cases, but sometimes it is way off. For instance, if the tree stands tall and high on a hill, the apple can bounce awkwardly when it hits the ground and has nowhere to roll but down and away. Such has been my experience. 2) Most psychological complexes have quite legitimate origins; it is one's self-perpetuation of any condition that is the real problem.