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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Monday, July 07, 2008

    We Are The Borg...

    Prepare to be assholiated...

    I've written on this before. I fly like a bee through the blogs, pollinating worthy flowers here and there, and absorb anything worth keeping. And make it my own. Everything I read, I study the style, and if I find it wanting, I discard it, and if I like it, I absorb it into my repertoire.

    Yep...steal the fuck out of it.

    And it becomes just another voice in the choir in my head, and sometimes all the voices sing together, and sometimes there are solos, and sometimes the altos do their part, or the baritones, but in the end, I am the Director.

    I understand (as in, 'hear') that I am difficult to imitate. I've been told that I am 'original'. Well, maybe I am, but I have scuffed my boat against enough other boats navigating this sea, that I can barely make out the original color of mine.

    And I always shake my head when someone hits my tipjar(s). And they are nearly always for substantial amounts. One time, I got $1,000. What?! Uh...thanks?

    I'm so mean to my readers, that it blows me away ya'll still come around. Just don't over-think stuff, when you write. I write this stuff like you make saliva. A thought pops into my head, and the keys click. Simple. Although I must admit that I have occasionally considered what I intended to write for an entire ten minutes. Or so.

    And that is in each and every one of you. Just fucking write. Don't look to asshole hacks like Kerouac, Joyce, and other so-called 'icons'. They were addled assholes, and their stuff was shit.

    And if you take yourself out of the 'here and now' of the bond between you and your writing implement, you lose. Think of the future, and you are doomed. Just fucking write. The future can go fuck itself.

    We all have stories in us, whether it is of a spectacular bar-fight, or the time when you were seven, and lay there, your chin in your hands, and watched an anthill, and all of the busy tiny creatures, for hours.

    Start a page, turn it into a story, and if you want, stretch it out like Silly Putty, with picture after picture adhesed into the substance, then you smoosh it up, and make more pictures. Hint: so-called 'Great Literature' is mostly shit. Melville was unbearable, Dickens was a Serialist. And he rocked.

    If you want to hone your brain to a writer's edge, read as much Mark Twain as you can find. Then read 'Salem's Lot, by Stephen King, which I personally think is the finest novel ever written. Wanna spread your wings? Read his two 'Desperation' novels. Now that is how you push the envelope.

    Anyway, take it or leave it. My advice, I mean. You decide what size candle you want to take in the cave with you. Me?

    I want a Mag-Lite.