What do you think?

I have been told, repetitively I might add, that I should compile all of my short narratives into something resembling an actual book. Hmmm…now this intrigues me to some extent. It’s a subject that has run screaming across my mind on many occasions, its naked ass quivering in the breeze on its way past. It also brings to mind a whole horde of unsettling questions. Considering the fact that in two years I only have about seven chapters in the works, what makes everyone think I have what it takes to write the thirty of them required to be considered an actual manuscript?

While we are on the subject, what makes everyone assume that anyone other than themselves would want to read about my twisted life? Those that have read what I have already written are decidedly biased. They love me, and therefore they love what I write. Those of you that don’t know me are also biased. As my fellow writers, you love to read anything and most likely read whatever you can get your grubby little hands on, out of morbid curiosity. You have a sadistic need to see if another amateur wrote something better than your own wretched attempts at putting a coherent thought down on paper.

You want to laugh at someone else, and feel confident that you are a better writer. You want to believe you are entitled to your feelings of superiority. You know you do so don’t even pretend that you don’t. We all know what you do behind closed doors when you think no one is watching, now don’t we? I am just as guilty. There have been many times when I have been so dejected by my own miserable efforts that I have turned to other amateurs, in the hopes that someone out there writes worse than I do. It’s somewhat irritating to discover that EVERYONE writes better than I do. I then slink back into my hole and cover my head with dirt, not poking out again until the danger has passed.

My loved ones are beginning to get irritated with my ostrich act, and are clamoring for a new chapter. I think that perhaps they know I am happiest when I am scribbling, and therefore are inclined to encourage ANYTHING that gets me out of my self-imposed prison of uncertainty. I’m not entirely sure why this is because they really aren’t too keen on the idea of my including them in my musings. Just ask my mother. She’s just THRILLED with the fact that now the whole world knows she was a juvenile delinquent. My daughters are aggravated that the whole world now knows that they are also junior felons in the making. Take, for example, the time they set fire to the backyard just because they had a lighter. Apparently, felonious acts of lunacy run in the family. I say if they don’t want me to write about these things then why do they insist on doing them in front of me?

Granted, they do have a point. There is a lot to be said for not airing one’s dirty laundry in public, but where would the fun be in that? How could I NOT want to poke fun at the absurd things they do? They’re just pissed that I can accurately describe their antics for the entire world to point and laugh at too!

I seem to be getting off topic here. It happens frequently. I have a running narrative going on in my head that is beseechingly adamant about being written down. All the little voices shriek at once and it becomes difficult not to go off on strange little tangents. I try to write down exactly what they say, exactly how they say it. That way I don’t misquote any of them. They don’t like that.

Like all writers, I have a serious fear of rejection. What would the point be of laboring and anguishing over my work of art, only to have it shredded by a no talent, no balls, hack of an agent who either didn’t have enough coffee or didn’t get laid? You know you’re all thinking the same thing. That’s why we all desperately pray that our fellow writers will take pity on the works we so timidly post, in the hopes that we can pluck up enough courage to send it to the merciless gods of the literary world.

It’s exceedingly frustrating that I know damn well I would just be setting myself up for a nasty drop into the abyss if I actually entertained the insane idea of subjecting the rest of humanity to , well….ME. I was informed by a close, personal significant other that my natural sarcasm for life in general is a bad thing. I say that if I don’t try to crack fun at all the absurdity then I might as well check myself into the funny farm. Those nice young men in the clean white coats are coming to take me away HA HA. Care to join me? We can play checkers in the rec room.

I think I need another breakfast beer. Now before you all get on your high horses of indignation, how many of you have never had one? Come on now be honest. It must be happy hour SOMEWHERE! See what I mean about tangents? The beer god took over my psyche for a second. I wrote just exactly what he said, I swear. Now there is an insistent fellow if I do say so myself. He seems to feel that life is better viewed through a boozy haze. Thank the other gods I don’t listen to him often.


I have come to the conclusion that writing for myself is just not enough. I have a masochistic need to be torn to trembling splinters by the remorseless public. I have to let other people to know that I am here. I can’t be the only one this abnormal. With any luck, you all see your own demons reflected in mine. I’m just the one with the courage to name them. Go ahead and laugh. You know you want to. You have my permission to fall on the floor in gales of uncontrollable laughter at my poor excuse for a life. Hell, even I want to. Now wasn’t that fun? It was for me. Don’t think for one minute that I’m not laughing at you for sticking with this drivel for this long.


Ok my loyal readers, Now for the quiz. What? You didn’t know there was going to be a test? Strap yourselves in and hold on to your unmentionables. Here’s the 100, 000-dollar question. Should I or shouldn’t I? Shall I venture into the harsh reality of the literary viper’s nest? Is it worth the rejection letters to have it affirmed that I’m a no talent hack who can’t cut it in the “real world”? Maybe it’s time to reevaluate my status as a writer. Am I or aren’t I? I’ve been called a great number of things but can I add WRITER to the list? Here’s your chance to voice your opinion. I can take it. Go ahead and do it. You know you want to. Just remember that I give as good as I get!!!