The Write-Off

Do you write? Cause I write.

I want to first be perfectly clear: I still need help and am still lost. But I still enjoy writing. I love it even more if someone besides me likes it. So why don’t I do it more often?

Who knows. Excuses. I’m stressed. Writers’ block. I need a real job. It’s tough to get over the “I’m not gonna be famous overnight” thing. The usual. Life. And then there’s the constant beckoning of social media, where I often write at length (the book of the face and Twitter, if you’re into that).

I love language. I use the dictionary every day. That’s what it’s there for. I don’t have a photographic memory. In the 3rd or 4th grade I burst into tears because I couldn’t master restaurant (resteraunt, surely!). I’m either excited to know I nailed it, or excited that I caught an error in the making. The thesaurus is another best friend. I’ve been using one since…I can’t remember, only that the highlighter soaked through the pages and it eventually lost its covers. Words are a-MAZING. Reading a good book can make me squirm. Finishing a great book might leave me in stunned silence. All it takes is that one well-worked sentence, the one with the offbeat rhythm, and the colorful but succinct description that takes you exactly to the author’s desired destination.

fulton streetI originally thought this would be about fiction. And I think it still will be. It’ll probably be more observational, because I now live in New Brooklyn, where Williamsburg is its own borough and I can reminisce about the days Fresh Direct wouldn’t deliver past 11205. And yet I can walk around the corner from a busy bus stop on the coldest day in 2013 (about 40 degrees) and see half-naked men praying as if in a confessional. And if I just blurted this out, you probably wouldn’t believe me (I am prone to slight exaggeration, but only when it serves the story—I promise).
 
So you’ll see me, and my stuff. I’ll pong it back and forth between social media. I’d love some artistic inspiration and am partial to visuals (photography, paintings, et al.). I finally, finally got to Rome a few years back, and anxiously got through security and was given earphones and took the fastest bathroom break ever and only then was taken on a hurried yet thorough tour of the Vatican. And I very literally gasped at the grandness, the volume of it all. There were rooms full of art the building simply could not feature due to lack of space. Some of my tour pictures were out of focus because my hands were shaking. How could I not be inspired? A week in an alcove there and I’m sure I could churn out, at the least, a decent novella.

pastel frida kahloI’ve been online a long time. So I’m used to some things that might make others wary. Like strangers chatting me up. Having long-distance Web friends. Having strangers email me, or message me, or throw out advice. It’s not weird to me, although it probably should be…mmm, nah. I mentioned in passing that I loved Frida Kahlo and within a half hour received this (left) from a stranger (well, a stranger no longer; an artist named Vaughn Filmore), who saw my post through a mutual friend; his own pastel of the artist. A blogger who emailed me weeks ago asking why I stopped writing made me ask myself, Why DID I stop writing?
 
 
So keep writing me, and I’ll write you back, and since creative people feed off one another, we’ll all be writing and swapping ideas and losing track of word counts. That’s exciting to me. I hope it is for you. So let’s just do this thing day by day and see what happens, shall we?
 
 

Uncooked holidays & breaking the drill

O. M. G.

What the HELL has been going on in here? I go away for a few days, come back, and LOOK at this joint! Clothes on the floor everywhere, dishes in the sink, makeup all over the bathroom, and in–come again? I left it this way? I see… Let me, ah, pick up a few things, ha ha, have a seat.

I hope everyone had a restful, easy holiday. My family of three certainly did. We got a dud turkey (expensive and totally unseasoned), plus undercooked green beans and unsalted, pudding-like gravy. But I spoke to the manager on Saturday and promptly got a second free, yummy turkey. My mom ominously noted, “Remember, [the manager] can get spicy.” I replied, “Have you MET me?!” I didn’t feel I should push as hard for the sides; my mom thought the gravy and greens were just as relevant. As I was the one marching out as Turkey Ambassador, I came down on the side of the main dish. I gave kudos to the manager for clearing up the matter with a quick “Come get a new one on the house at anytime today.” My mom thinks the unspoken part of this exchange was “We always f*ck up on Thanksgiving, so take a turkey and don’t go to Twitter or Facebook calling us out.” And guess what? She was diplomatic, and I didn’t call her out. I am, however, on my sixth day of eating turkey. I ran out of sides two days back and store owners looked at me funny when I asked for stuffing & cranberry sauce post-holiday.

BSC is on a complete effin’ tangent…but there’s sugar at the end.

Hey guys. Whew. Let me get straight to it.

I was near-apoplectic last night trying to set up an Amazon link here. If anyone knows code, please give me a shout via e-mail. When the seventh Google search told me to “throw the code on your site anywhere” I started rubbing my whole face with my hands, which I only do when frustrated, because touching your face causes breakouts.

It’s only been two weeks but I’m peeping other blogs and it’s like, circus time! Look over here–take this awesome poll! Get your fortune told here! Call your buddy over here for free! Push this button and a woman WILL show up to give you a massage. Get a password and the admin will hum you to sleep for 30 minutes. I WANT TO DO THESE THINGS TOO. So what, these blogs have been up for three, four years. Who cares? My learning curve is mad high, you’re telling me I can’t embed a few buttons? Thank you, WordPress, for making me feel like I was born in the 40s (no disrespect, I’m sure it’s great being a baby boomer, whatevs) and cannot make use of a computer. Thank you, HTML, for making me think I did. not. learn. HTML, when I know I did. I just didn’t learn HTML code with blogs.

There’s an acronym they use in 12-step groups–don’t make decisions when you’re Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired. It’s simple, easy to remember and really, really true. Well, same goes for posting on the Web. I’m pretty sure I cursed out Mark Zuckerberg last night—merely because I chose to gripe about WordPress on Facebook. WTF, Chick? Also, I was hungry and had run out of healthy snacks.

All that to say, I have to remind myself that this is just a blog. It’s not my grad school essay. And though it reflects me and I want to wake up with brilliant non sequiturs ready to go in my head and have a thousand readers and continue getting encouraging feedback… That’s effin’ absurd. I’ll keep learning as I go, and hopefully that will include code. But it may not. And I’ll try to keep my cool, because lunatics don’t usually have successful blogs.