If I remember correctly someone asked a young Charles Bukowski why he was only writing short stories and not novels. His reply was something like, “I’m not ready yet”. The context of this doesn’t matter. I always liked the way the words flowed and until recently I didn’t even know the reason, the meaning, the translation of the why he said it. But sill, it stuck with me.
This is what the social digital notebook is for. Sometimes I try and streamline it. I don’t know why. That word is weird and it’s weird I’m writing a novel. It’s weird I’m writing at all. What the heck are novels and what is this thing called writing? Nobody ever told me. I’m not being sarcastic. I’m over it so beer me. I’m done with the literary lazy suzanne.
Edit this. Edit this. Now… this. So what? I don’t know. Write this. Get better. This goes back and forth like a turntable. It sounds good. It’s not even a remix.
What is what and with that said, my novel is going to be really fucking good. Deadline is the 9th of September. Tour October.Nobody cares. So what? I do. I’m on page 291. That would be great if this was the third draft. It’s not. It’s the fifth. I should be done. It’s not. The book is now 312 pages. That’s ridiculous. That’s epic. My book is Peter Jackson epic with less hobbits and computer dragons and bullshit like that, and it’s not no Franzen or Jest but it’s a book that can smile once in awhile as it’s looking at how foolish our species can be. What? Nothing. I’m done for the day. P.S: What are hobbits?
8/28/2013…Good luck out there society.
Adventures In American Writing 