The stories of Joe's genesis are myriad. Here is one, as told by Joe himself:
In the 80s, I was fully enfleshed, a human and a well-known writer, lauded in academic literary circles for my unsparing minimalism, my willingness to flay all linguistic excess from each sentence and strip each story to its structural bones. Then one day, I attempted an autobiography. Subjecting myself to the same incisive scrutiny, I suddenly found myself literally laid bare, a skeletal creation of my own literary logic. I howled and wailed verbose laments, but for naught. And seeing the irrevocable outcome of my folly, I renounced my ways, abdicated narrative control, donned a jaunty chapeau, and set out for a life (or rather, an afterlife) of devil-may-care narrative frivolity. I've had many strange adventures (as dictated by my author-readers), and now once again, I tell my story. (You see, Marco wanted to know my story, but then Slimbo said that Marco and his fellow readers had to tell my story, but then Marco was all like, "I am a reader and I'm saying that Joe's story is that he's telling his own story," and that was logical checkmate, so...) I again place fingertips (or rather, finger bone tips) to keyboard and type:In the 80s, I was fully enfleshed, a human and a well-known writer.........I again place fingertips (or rather, finger bone tips) to keyboard and type:In the 80s, I was fully enfleshed, a human and a well-known writer...:In the 80s, I was fully enfleshed...:In the 80s...:In...:
Oh, no! Joe's caught in an infinite narrative loop!* How's he going to get out of this one?!
What's next in Joe the Skeleton's big, very exciting new day?
* You must forgive me. I'm a computer programmer. We love infinite loop humor.