Hi. My name is Hugh, Jesse and Michael. I’ve used different aliases throughout my time here but I was first and foremost, Hugh. It was probably because I never felt comfortable with a specific name but those three just sort of stuck with me through different periods. Michael was the name I grew up with, bestowed upon me by my parents. Jesse, throughout middle and high school, a gift from fellow classmates. And Hugh, the name on the birth certificate and the one I assumed when I went off to college.
Through college, I lied on a very regular basis. To girls, to instructors, to people I met. It helped me manipulate people and I was adept at it. I was aiming for a theatrical degree at first, and actors are pretty much liars. Then I went for medicine and law. I didn’t want to but that was to shut my parents up. I was good at that too. I still acted on the side. Then I gathered up all my credits for a BA, except I was still missing the general stuff. I took everything except math. Actually, the only thing standing in my way from a fancy degree is a stupid math class. I didn’t take it because I wasn’t, at the time, affable in the realm of arithmetics. I am now, but that’s a whole other magical story.
It was during my English classes that I began to notice writing and literature. It was like noticing girls for the first time. I was always a book fancier but then I began to fancy what was in them. And it wasn’t till I was about 22 that I read my first real book of my choosing and volition. It was a Dostoyevsky. Well, technically my fist real book was at 10, with Calvin & Hobbes 10th Anniversary collection. That’s when I fell in love with writing, and set about finding my narrative voice. I was great at imitating authors. I think it was from the years of lying that allowed me to be able to get into an author’s head. I even lived like some of them for a time. I call it method lying, a derivative of Stanislavski’s teachings. When I got to the beats, I guess it’s safe to say that I never really left. That was my niche.
I like writing. As to feeling like the gods, it’s the closest I can get. All these characters and lives dictated by the strokes of my keys, the swipe of my pen. If ever I feel like I wasn’t good enough, or if my words were contrived, I just pull up some asshole’s blog and read their shit. They reaffirm my adequacy most of the time. Hi.