Over the weekend, a cousin I only see once a year asked me if I was writing. We were standing in front of the Gravitron at a makeshift carnival on the north fork of Long Island. Parents were mulling about while their kids went on rides.THe smell of zepoles and sausage stirring the still air. In the distance fire crackers exploded. Babies screamed. Couples held hands, carrying a stuffed dog or panda from a carnival game. The barkers in the background: win a prize for your lady, only three dollars, everyone’s a winner. I said kinda, mostly screenplays, quite convinced I won’t get anywhere. Ha ha. La-di-da. Let’s face it, saying you’re writing screenplays is about as absurd as saying you’re running away with your podiatrist, or you’re seagulling, or taking flossing to the next level.
What about you? Are you writing?
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