Dead Versions Of Me - Some versions didn't survive the telling. - Collinson, Elliott
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A Memoir by Elliott Collinson Dead Versions of Me is not a redemption story. It's the wreckage after the reckoning. Told through poetic letters, fractured reflections, and a kind of emotional exorcism, this book follows the psychological unravelling of a man who didn't just write characters, he became them. Part memoir, part literary graveyard, Elliott Collinson explores the cost of immersive storytelling when the lines between fiction and identity blur beyond recognition. What begins as self-reflection turns into a reckoning with silence, performance, inherited grief, and the ghosts of former…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
A Memoir by Elliott Collinson Dead Versions of Me is not a redemption story. It's the wreckage after the reckoning. Told through poetic letters, fractured reflections, and a kind of emotional exorcism, this book follows the psychological unravelling of a man who didn't just write characters, he became them. Part memoir, part literary graveyard, Elliott Collinson explores the cost of immersive storytelling when the lines between fiction and identity blur beyond recognition. What begins as self-reflection turns into a reckoning with silence, performance, inherited grief, and the ghosts of former selves. Each chapter is a eulogy for the versions of him that didn't survive the performance, being the charming ones, the poetic ones, the broken ones who still wanted applause. At the heart of the book is Chapter 9: The Allusion Letters - a nine-part descent into ego, emotional distortion, false strength, artistic madness, and the quiet ache of wanting to be seen without being solved. This isn't about healing. It's about telling the truth so recklessly that the past starts answering back. It's about grief that lingers without ceremony. Trauma that isn't aesthetic. Strength that doesn't want to be inspiring. And the uncomfortable realization that sometimes, the version we buried wasn't dead - just waiting for permission to speak again. Written in the aftermath of what the author calls self-inflicted bipolar storytelling, Dead Versions of Me is the result of going too far in pursuit of meaning - and writing your way back through the wreckage. Some stories are crafted. This one bled out. For those that: Lost themselves in the work they thought would save them Written just to survive the night. Doubted their sanity in the pursuit of truth. Carried the voices of others long after the writing stopped. Tried to escape the past, only to find it staring back through the words on the page.
Autorenporträt
Elliott Collinson is a writer, producer, and former athlete (of no notable history) who believes in going too far, then writing his way back. He doesn't claim to be a literary voice in the traditional sense, but he does claim the wreckage of his very colourful past. His work comes from a place most people spend their lives trying to avoid: the deep end of self-invention.Born in Perth and now based in Sydney, Elliott's path to authorship wasn't linear. He didn't find writing through academia or quiet reflection; he found it by losing himself inside characters he never intended to live through. What began as screenwriting became a kind of emotional possession. He calls it method writing, a creative process so immersive it blurred the boundary between fiction and identity. The result was something he now refers to as self-inflicted bipolar storytelling - the psychological whiplash of embodying too many truths at once without ever stepping back.Dead Versions of Me is his first book, part memoir, part emotional autopsy, and part literary graveyard. It's a reckoning with the selves we become while chasing meaning, survival, applause, or silence. Through poetic narrative and psychological grit, Elliott offers not healing, but honesty. And sometimes, that's the more dangerous thing.He is currently developing multiple companion projects across graphic novels, screen adaptations, and experimental formats through Dead Versions Creative. His diary is full. His ghosts are louder than ever. And somehow, he's just getting started.