Monday, October 19, 2009

What the hell am I doing drinking in L.A.?

There is a circus freak show of things writers get themselves into when they should be writing. Booze comes to mind first. After that, it's just a cacophony of the ridiculous. I'll do my best to expose you to some of the sordid places I go when the writing gets tough and the tough hide under the kitchen table. For instance, I thought it might be fun to use the word 'hirsute' in a poem. Essentially, it means hairy. Not exactly what I was thinking of. Lo and behold it was all downhill from there. For example:

Hirsute, my love won't matter

was the line I was thinking of. That was five hours of wasted time I'll never get back. After a vicodin and a call to the  suicide hotline I realize of course love won't matter if it's hairy. What the hell is that and who would write such a thing? After the pills kicked in and 'Wanda' talked me out of blowing my brains out, I realized I may have actually meant 'forsooth' which makes a lot more sense. It may not mean alot to most people but that's what happens when you lay around naked with a pad of paper and a pen.

1 comment:

  1. I will be the first person to post the first (real) comment (comments to your own posts don't count :-) in saying, hairs to your new blog! Would love to see a post of you wearing the Dickinson dress. You should totally set that up; or get someone to Photoshop your face onto that portrait of Emily and put them side by side.

    Also, I receeived my copy of the book. The cover image is oversaturated (background too dark namely). Someone in production at the publisher's overlooked that. Just letting you know I'm still on quality control over here.

    And with constructive criticism on the table, I add: the book is beautiful! Congrats on that.