Ruby Red Slippers & a Broken Heel

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It's not that I don't want to write the blog any longer.

No, it's just that this damn novel is so involved, so engrossing that I can think of nothing else. No one or nothing bothers me or concerns me and when that is the case, it's hard for me to blog. I should have every reason in the world to blog insanely lately. My shit is going South and I should be a bag full of worry, but in fact, I am not. I just can't generate enough interest in my own life to give much of a damn.



I'm a writer, author, poet, and fool. I live my life of abstinence for a reason. I desire to stay true to my profession and my calling. If it means that I should travel a naked and long road alone, then so be it. I have no real qualms over that. I am the long lost hobo, and I walk this way with a stick over my shoulder and a bag on its end. With the shoes on my feet and the clothes on my back I attack the world because indeed, a man with nothing to lose is in fact the most dangerous man of them all.



I care not about what I should be doing and where I should be at this time in my life. I'm struggling to keep my head above water, and that's all that should be asked from me. Shit, I'll cure cancer later. But this book is now my baby, and like a loyal mother, I must carry it to term, protect it and shield it; watch over it and develop it, allowing it to grow strong and mature. I am a pregnant mother. I am an egg sitting hen. I am busy with the birth of something great to me. I am dedicated to its success.



Unlike most, who invest just what they can into a project. I have to invest my all into it to a com- pletion. Until it's full force comes to term. Until it rises out of the sea of my mind and takes shape and form. And that's what I've been doing. Giving my thoughts shape and form, and researching the shit out of the project. Cramming, like in high school for an exam. I am busy with trying to both masticate and expectorate at the same time.

This gives or affords me room for little else.



So yeah, the blog is suffering through this interval of intense creativity, but that's par for the course. I'm a writer folks. This is what I do. This is what I want to do. This is what I have to do. That's the long and short of it. So don't fret. I'll be back from time to time to hit you up with more of my crazy shit as it comes to me. The problem is that nothing is coming to me save for the scenes in the novel and the dialogue, which surprisingly has hit a bit of a writer's block, and therefore this post is the result of that creative stoppage.



What can unstop my flow? I don't know. Inspiration, money, a good meal, a blowjob, who knows. Lord knows, over the years I've tried everything, but still I have come up with no solution. If I could I would write it in a book and sell it to hundreds of authors who suffer from it from time to time too. I bet, if the answer was a good, solid blowjob, I'd make a mint selling a book that said so, wouldn't I? Shit, a blowjob just about cures everything, doesn't it?



I guess I'm just getting old. I can't even keep a writing hard-on for long. It maybe time for me to call it quits on everything and then again, maybe not. That's not my stick. Sooner or later good fortune will shine on me. The trick is to never let your light not shine.

No matter how bad it gets. Let your light shine.

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