Willy Wihly

is a young Englishman, middle-class, mild-mannered and earnest, held down by his termagent wife. On his quest for a better life he meets other men eerily like himself, and together their stories explore the bounds between truth, fiction, and lying.

This is a book I had dreamed up last night, though in my dream I had attributed it to someone else (one of my professors). There were a lot of twists and turns that really did make you think about the philosophical status of truth as you read about these four young men - but now I forgot what they were. Without them, all that's left is a bland Charles Dicken novel, so that's why I didn't think I was compromising my intellectual property to post the synopsis of my story on this blog.

I just thought it was funny how in a complete, perverse absence of external mental stimulation, the brain resorts to challenging itself.