So! This starts our journey, I as the writer and you as the reader. It's a strange thing is it not? for us to read and write together, needing one another to continue the loop. I write for you to read, and I need you to read to write. Well, that's a little bit of philosophical talking, but moving on! What do I hope to achieve or well what is some hopes I dream of. I quite wish to see what I write get its own tv tropes page, just a dream I've had for what I write. I am well aware it's silly but it's a goal to strive towards. So, please, join me in this journey we shall make together.
Last year, in 2017, a book was released called 'My time in Narnia' by Lewis James Tyler. I was made aware of this book when my colleague brought it to my attention. Apparently, it was largely hated by its reviewers and audience. So, out of my own curiosity, I paid 20 pounds for a hardcover of it. I have this much to say of it, it may be one of the worst written books I have ever read.
Firstly, this is a walking lawsuit in the making in the title, Narnia is very much copyrighted. In addition, the book doesn't even discuss narnia, it's about some random land called Asotsia or Eostia, honestly, I can't remember. Secondly, the book is incredibly sexual, by itself it matters not and could even be a good thing, but in the hands of this author it is a phallic abomination. Thirdly, the ending is utter nonsense, the author openly says he lived through everything that he wrote and if that's true, then I shall have to give him credit, I wouldn't want to spend a day in the awful writing he forges. Finally, the author keeps bringing up county Kent, and he always finds someway to cram it into every sentence or force it into it. This very book is a car-bomb outside the office of the concept writing itself. I would sooner taste the barrel of a shotgun than read it again.
Those are the reasons why I asked for my boss to let me schedule an interview with the author. I had to meet the man behind this abomination, it was as if I was meeting doctor Frankenstein about his monster. My boss was originally resistant but he eventually relented.
I reached out to the author and he was very much keen on an interview, which I found to be nice, I had spent a while having to convince my boss to do this, and well, I'd prefer for my labor to not be wasted. We sent several emails regarding a place to meet and time. We chose to meet at his apartment in Blackpool, something I slightly dreaded. Over the emails he sounded mostly alright, albeit I shudder at the very thought that he wrote the emails with the very same hands he wrote his book in.
When we met at the cafe in the early afternoon, it was rather cloudy. The cafe itself was an Italian-British fushion restaurant, which now I feel strange calling a cafe. the man I met was somehow even stranger, I first thought Lewis would appear as some sort of shut-in, but my thoughts were subverted by the man I saw, he had quite a bit of muscle, he was missing three fingers on his left hand, he looked about 25-27? he had several scars on his face and a rather nasty scar on his left arm. However, if he was from Blackpool, then it makes complete sense.
Lewis greeted me at the cafe with a bow and said something in what I believe to be Gaelic or something? Even now I am unsure, it could've been nonsense and he was trying to waste my time. I, of course gave him a simple nod and went to get us a table. When we were seated and had our menu's, I brought out my notepad and pen. I asked him a few simple opening questions, where he was born, how he was, if he was married, if he was employed, what his politics were.
Lewis responded to me in a way I never think I'll forget, he looked at me and said that he was from Blackpool, that part I could figure, no one outside of Blackpool would invite any sane individual to the cursed place, he also said he was jolly. What had me shocked was the other questions, one's that I don't ask normal people about, he said he was a widow. For employment he was a veteran of some gibberish sounding place and he was employed as a painter to 'Celestine' and for his politics, he said that he supported the Reform-Progress movement as led by Alicia. I, in natural response just fakely chuckled and asked for a real answer, to which he simply said that he had given a real answer. This confused me even more, somehow! So, I asked for a clarification and he only said the same thing.
Now, I should mention a crucial detail here, the man had a very much defined 'Northern' accent to him, if you listened to him speak, you'd think him from Newcastle.
I asked Lewis a few follow up questions, and I admit, I asked questions only an insane man would dare ask! I inquired about who he was formally married to and why his book was written so sexually? before I could get an answer, a waiter came to our table and asked for our order. I ordered a simple Lady-Grey and Lewis requested a halfling-brew. The waitor seemed annoyed by this and asked for Lewis to pick something else and that Lewis should know by now that the cafe didn't have it. Lewis eventually chose a cup of miss gray as any proper lad should.
After we gave our orders, I asked him the questions again and he gave his answer. He was married to someone known as L-L and when asked why their name was L-L, he only said it was because they'd would have wanted him to give a confusing response. Also, He seemed so causal about discussing his dead spouse? Was he a murderer or perhaps it was a long time ago or natural causes? The man in regards to the sexual element said that it was because it was just how it was. In a little bit of an infuriated state, I proclaimed that he had control over the fiction he was writing.
This man! This bloody man! had the gall to just wave his hand and say that it was because it was a first-hand account. At that point, I felt like spending the rest of my life in prison for what I would do to this man. But alas, me being here to write proves that I did not in fact enact upon my righteous campaign of bloodshed.
For the next couple minutes I moved the conversation to something else, hoping to calm myself down for a new round of inquires. We discussed general politics and the slight dread of a possible brexit and it's possible effects on British trade. Normally that would be a very large topic to talk about, but this man seemingly knew more about trade and economics than most of the economists I've interviewed. Yet, even in this conversation, his fiction seemed to seep in, much akin to a leak or cancerous infection. He talked about his time having to help manage halfling-human logistics and how he nearly failed the task. It was at this moment that I began to believe that this man had brain damage, that had to be it? right? had to be.
Seeing how the conversation only slightly calmed me down, I chose to hit the wind and go back to inquiring. I asked him about what he meant by non-fiction in regard to his work and why he dared to call it a personal experience. Lewis said that it was because it was exactly that, a personal experience that he had in the spring of 2017. I was soon to try and ask a follow up question, but as I was opening my mouth, our orders arrived. In addition, the song 'Sh-Boom' by the chords began to play. Lewis seemed incredibly happy to hear that song and he said to me this.
"You know I only come to this place because that song plays every 70 minutes or so? I taught that song to my wife, she loved it."
When he said that, I realized that his wife was most likely from some undiscovered Amazonian tribe or some post-soviet state in central Asia. Still, L'L is a strange nick-name and not something a central Asian or Amazonian would come up with. Not that I would know with the latter. As I pondered these thoughts I had a sip of tea and rather liked it. It was a nice cup of gray.
With tea entering my system I decided to change my approach, there was a chance I was interacting with some form of psychologically damaged veteran. He said he was a veteran before and he had lost his wife, to me that would be enough to destroy any man's psyche. I chose to play along with his fiction and asked what his 'first hand experience' in the world was like.
To this question he was happy to respond to and said that he had the most amazing time of his entire life there, he has a life-time of experience there and found the love of his life there. I myself chuckled a little at that and said that it seemed like a jolly time if one ignored the sexual nature of world.
After I said that, his eyes grew slightly grim and he said hinting at something rather horrifying. He uttered that he had seen entire cities razed and people dying. He looked like he was going to tear up as he talked. I took this time and finished my cup of gray and took out 20 quid and offered to pay.
He accepted and chose to offer up something in return, a chance to see his apartment. I was unsure if I should accept that offer, I had thought him a murderer after all... But! No journalist made their career from being cushy in their office writing blogs, well, a great deal did, but no self-respcting journalist did! So, I accepted his offer and paid the bill.
It was a long walk to his apartment, by the time we arrived it had began to transition to the evening. When we arrived, he opened up his door and welcomed me in. Inside his apartment was a rather plain kitchen, a sleeping mattress on the ground, a bathroom, and a large painting of a Orange haired young looking woman wearing a green robe around her frame and wearing some sort of hat. She rather looked like a hobbit from Tolkien's middle earth. I was quick to ask who the woman was and the man said that was his wife. I was rather unsure what to say, but like I decided before, I went along with it.
The man walked into his living room, which I had yet seen and brought out two chairs, he invited me to sit, which I asked for him to do first, out of personal safety. When he sat down, I soon followed and I prepared myself to write down what he said, for in my body, I felt like what he was going to say would be interesting for better or worse.
The man known as Lewis coughed a few times, clearing his chest as he prepared himself to speak. When he did, he said~
"I'm guessing you want my first hand experience? Not from some book or other shite ey? Ya want it from the source, well, let me tell you the story. So one night a couple of years ago, I was drifting myself to sleep with my phone~"
I quickly intervened as I heard an inconsistency in his words, earlier he stated that he had this experience in the spring of 2017. He soon responded and said that was when he came back. He had gone to this world apparently in 2015. With that answered, he continued his story from where he left off.
"As I went to sleep with my phone playing music, I found myself waking up the next morning in a place somewhere else- somewhere very much not here."