The Louis G and Me

The results of last week's poll are in! 9 people voted, about 8 more than I anticipated. And the winner...

Depressing fashion!

Ahh, good old depressing fiction, could you ever lose? And the more I read the story, the more excited I become. There is great potential for a depressing story, and I'm glad you chose this option. As for more good news, no one said the story sucked. That's promising.

I quickly abandoned posting on a daily basis because Louis G is here in NYC. The stinky-footed Frenchman is sleeping on my floor ( I don't have a couch big enough to support his ample frame). So, needless to say, instead of writing I have been drinking. Drinking and skating after work don't lend themselves to the writing process. Neither does having a 6'2 Frenchman sleeping on your floor. The little writing I have managed to do in the past week has occur ed while at work. It's well worth it though; Louis G is one of my best friends. I can actively say that unlike most foreign people I meet, I legitimately think he is funny. Usually with foreigners, there is such a language barrier that humor is demoted to a base level, where we resort to awkward gestures and quick, funny sounding sentences instead of real humor. But, Louis has mastered English on such a level that there is a perfect combination of wordy jokes as well as awkward sentence fragments. For instance, we were walking through the grocery store and he insisted I 'Drive' him to the beer aisle. See, instead of 'lead' him, he said 'drive me'. Funny stuff. Or maybe you had to be there?

We are going to Boston next weekend. And, as far as my break from writing, you know what my favorite dude Richard Yates had to say- "To be a serious writer you must be a serious drinker."

PS. I think of this when pondering a way to finish the story in a depressing fashion:

What a fate, to be condemned to work for a firm where the smallest
omission at once gave rise to the greatest suspicion! Were all employees in a body nothing but scoundrels, was there not among them one single loyal devoted man who, had he wasted only an hour or so of the firm's time in a morning, was so tormented by conscience as to be driven out of his mind and actually incapable of leaving his bed?