"Write what you know." That’s what they always say. It’s good advice. A few years ago I decided to put it into practice. What did I know? I knew music. My short but agonizingly bizarre career in rock journalism is a story much too long and horrifying to relate here. The less said the better. Suffice it to say Sharon and Ozzy Osbourne are lovely people and metal bands that travel in mobile homes are usually rapists and arsonists. There has to be something else I know.
I knew movies. I know so much about movies I was able to parlay it into running my own video store and eventually working for the home office. Ask anyone. I’m a vast warehouse of useless knowledge. I love movies and I have harsh opinions and very precise likes and dislikes and so have begun reviewing the damned things.
I knew comic books. I have more than I want to admit and I’ve probably read twice that. I know comics trivia even the trivia experts don’t know. I’ve tried to break into the industry with notable rejections (so perhaps I don’t know as much as I thought) and so I’ve taken the movie route and began reviewing them. It’s much the same contempt and praise involved.
What else did I know? Most of the crap I learned in high school and college went through me like a sieve so what else was left.
French fries. I loved French fries. Hell, I knew French fries. I was an expert, what didn’t I know about French fries? I could make them, I knew where to get the best fries, I knew where not to go for the bad ones. This was something I could do.
Write what I know.
I know French fries.
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