Ghosts of the past

Perhaps because of the proximity of my old high school… what? … classmate… yes, that’s the right term, as the local writer-in-residence, and perhaps because one of those regular emails advising me *updates* had occured at, a site I registered on a few years ago, I decided to log onto this site (quite a good one actually) and update my profile there.

Here’s what I said:

Perhaps because of the years spent lurking in the shadows, avoiding people in high school whose main achievement in life has been inhaling the fumes of schoolyard memories – of smokes behind the gym, slapping arses in scrums, and blowjobs at parties – I took my bitterness, my rage, and my imagination, and used it to become a writer. A horror writer – living in the literary ghetto where I can inflict my own nightmares on others and enjoy a perverse sensation of power because of it. An outcast still, perhaps, but I am silent no more.

Me, bitter? Whatever would give you that idea?