FIFTH IN A FIVE PART SERIES GONE OFF THE RAILS: No you didn’t.
I really want to know why the fuck you keep writing . I want to know who the fuck you are when you sit down at your desk and if that person is different from the one sitting down to a bowl of heart smart Cheerios. I want you to take your place at the Roundtable. I want you to ride with the Merry Pranksters. I want you tell Terry Gross how you used to be a cutter, and a boozer, and a pillhead, and a whore. Terry, writing saved my life, literally. Terry, I used to make up stories as a young girl. I pretended I was Anne Frank and I started keeping diaries just like her. This is my process. Terry, you’ve spoken with thousands of writers, are they all full of shit? Oh, Terry! The key to creativity? Mania, sorrow, a fascination with bodily functions. Shame, fear, a day of perfect never ending rain. Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wing? Raymond Carver, come here! Is this what we talk about when we talk about rugs? What is this fucking need to write shit down?
Will anyone love me?
Filed under: Uncategorized