Being a nice guy is boring. It is the bad guys that get all the thrill and make the news.
I have not been writing my chronicles for a while now. I have been waiting for the elusive dolphins to appear in full so I may describe them in some graphic details. Not only that, I have been waiting- hoping, praying, wishfully to sight a mermaid, expecting to write a story- for Godot.
I was reading some of my Warri Chronicles entries, and I got dissatisfied with all the nice things I had to write about of my seafaring experience. I pride myself in being a renounced man: no smoking, no drinking, no womanizing and no jacking off. Well, my life has been making all the nice headlines among my friends and readers until my writings lost its thrill, being so expected and predictably christian.
Well, I am not an apostle. If anything, I am a cavalier: was, and still am. Living the renounced life and writing about it has outlived its frills and thrills. I can tell that much. I have gleaned the evidences form popular responses which have been dwindling lately. People are bored with my living righteous and telling about it. Bored with fancy tales of tossing and turning on the surface of the raging sea: of how I ate, and sipped tea, and pooped, and carry a hardon all about; of how I am being a gentleman and letting others have all the fun in wine, women and songs.
Even my girlfriend has lost her fascination for my tales. She says they no longer grip her. Well, I flew into a righteous rage when she made that declaration. But it was the honest truth, and I was to realise it when I went back to read my chronicles and other private writs of my deeds. I saw why my ladies no longer gush all over me, and other people’s girlfriend no longer wet their pants for me, and why the guys no more go practically green with envy over my fortune cavalier deeds, and liberty in the pursuit of happiness. I have become a old bore for lack of the variety that really spice up a man’s life.
Here is the thing: I am going back down that lane a little, to find the tale to tell. Live it and write it, isn’t that how the greatest books in the world got written? The bible, the Koran, the bhagavad gita, the dialogues of Plato and the kama sutra. Now everyone that has been faithfully following my chronicles are going to get their pennies worth in tales of how I drank and got drunk; stories of how I fucked or got fucked, and the relatively new aspect of how I will be poking my dick in other (willing partners) arse when there are no women in sight within a 100 nautical miles radius.
This H-factor stories, when they happen, and chronicled, are really going to make for fabulous reads. There are just stories waiting to be lived and told. The life of a sailor is a life to die for; a life to be written in full, and sold. A honest writer-sailor has never been born. Write-Sailor: The soul of one is worth selling your coat to buy. And, here is a honest soul for sale.