Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Note

All sorts of different people live in Little Aleppo; some of the folks in the neighborhood are the differentest I’ve ever met. Most of the people in Little Aleppo are nothing at all like me: by sex or ethnicity or background or gender or religion or creed or physicality. There are so many ways for us to differ from each other.

I like writing stories about Little Aleppo, and everyone who lives there. I dreamt ’em up, so surely it is my right to tell their stories.

But if that is my right–to tell a character’s story–then I surely must have a responsibility to that character, as well.

If I fail, if I slop some ugly cartoon on the page where a human being should be, I hope you’ll pull me by the collar about it. I only want to do right by the place, and everyone who lives there. Sometimes, it feels like I live there, too. Call it civic pride.

Thanks.

4 Comments

  1. i think you serve all of them extremely well. they are lucky to have been dreamt by you.

  2. You write place and people as well as anyone I have ever read. It all feels real, and it’s always a good morning commute when I’ve got a report from LA (not that one) to read on the rails . . .

  3. If you don’t know how I feel, I have failed you and I’m sorry.

  4. Thank you, for your writing, and also for taking the jokes seriously.

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