Friday, January 1, 2010

The 1st



Hey ho, let's go.

Is he back? Is he fo' real? What's the deal yo? Only time will tell my little buddies. Only time will tell. Before we discuss anything juicy (like what I got for Xmas), let me answer some FAQs.

Why don't you post anymore?
Over it. So over it. Blogging took time away from my true passion: writing 3 pages of a short story, telling myself I'm the next Chekhov, and then never-ever touching the story again. That's what I do. That's why I stopped blogging. Well, kinda. Blogging is hard. You think genius like this just flows? No. For the oh so few of you privileged individuals who have seen my stand-up routine, you know how much time and work goes into my um... creative, uh... projects. I didn't want to put in the time. And the subject matter bores me. That Brett guy is a doofus.

What are you up to, brah?
I currently live in Rincon, Puerto Rico. But chances are if you check this blog (i.e. a member of my immediate family), you already knew that. Just in case you didn't know: I live on da beach man.

What do you, like, do there?
The short answer is nothing. The longer, more uppity kind of answer is I'm trying to write a book. Yes, a novel. With a protagonist, a setting, a conflict, and all that. Really though, I just ponder how great this book is going to be without ever actually writing much. I have about 30,000 words(brag), but they don't work. They're useless. You couldn't make sense of them if you tried. And it's stressing me out. How will I ever win that Pulitzer with a book that starts with the line, "Throw the ball. Pussy." Yep, that's the first line. The all-important intro. Some real "Call me Ishmael" type shit.


What is the book about?
I already said: it has a protagonist, a setting, and some sort of conflict. Outside of that your guess is as good as mine. Well, that's not totally true. It's about a teenage boy. Frankly I don't know if I want to talk about it. I can't decide if blogging about my writing takes away from it somehow. But I've also learned I can't take this book thing too seriously. You see, it seems like every time I think I've written some great lines, some real gems, I get sections like this, where the main character talks about going to college:

"I take some advanced classes and think about college but more for the girls and the parties than anything else. I can't think much past getting laid in my dorm room. This is, of course, after we listen to two-thirds of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band- or some shit like that-and smoke pounds of pot. And people in this town say it's very adult of me to want to go to college."

Actually, damn. That is a gem. Keep it up kid. By the way, the main character has absolutely nothing to do with me. Nothing. I went to college for the courses.

Can I visit you in Puerto Rico?
Pssh, I'll believe it when I see it mom, dad, Ana, Lindsey, Liv, Tripp, Aaron etc....

What'd you get for Xmas?
I think I will write about this tomorrow. Bottom line is I'm back. Maybe. Get sum.

1 comment:

betsyboo said...

Writers put in the time to write. Sorry, that's just how it works.