Million Dollar Hollar

Sometimes I get excited by my own ideas. It happened with my candy cane utensils. Imagine edible forks and spoons. You could do hard chocolate, too. It happened with my menthol nasal spray. And now, it's happened again. What's the latest million-dollar idea, you ask? Personal fiction.

I tried calling invention services after both the menthol nasal spray and candy cane idea, but it turns out that inventing a revolutionary new product that reduces nasal swelling or transforms the way you gently sip holiday cider costs a lot of money.

Personal fiction. What is personal fiction? Well, it's only a potentially whole new genre of literature. For years, authors have been twiddling away their time and talents writing books for readers. Mostly bland ol' diddies. They've had to choose between writing made-up stories with made-up characters or serious and factual narratives based on reality. Fiction or non-fiction. What a bunch of followers.

Now, I declare a new day. Imagine if Joyce had written about being a soldier in the civil war. Or Fitzgerald had written about the excesses of wealth -- his excesses. Personal fiction is a new form of self-expression and exploration. I, Brian Brown, can write about traveling through a black hole as, that's right, Brian Brown. It is revolutionary.

You take one real you, and add imagination. What would you do if you met Jesus? WWYDIYMJ? What if you were a NASCAR driver and you were in a horrible accident? What would happen if you sprouted wings and could fly? Personal fiction.

This morning, with great excitement, I told my wife about my latest million-dollar idea. I just knew she'd get that big knowing smile and she'd tell me to get to work on it and we'd buy a house with a dog that's not crazy and a jacuzzi and a slide that went from the roof to the basement as soon as my book was published and eventually they'd have college courses like Personal Fiction 501 and I could pop in as a guest speaker and they'd all be amazed and I would tell them to leave class early and get busy imagining things and they'd give me high-fives except one nice girl who couldn't resist giving me a kiss on the cheek as she left and I'd blush.

My wife said "isn't that just fiction? I don't get it."