I’ve been trying to write this book as of late, and enduring the insufferable and rather pathetic madness of wondering whether phrases like “as of late” are even part of the English language or just some hatchet-refuse of the common man’s slang that is likely to get me kicked from the slush piles of publishers worldwide. Then too, there’s the whole cliché thing. Taking a turn of phrase – when life gives you citrus fruit, squeeze the shit out of it until you can sell it on sidewalks for $.50 a cup in some lesson-teaching middle American homage to entry level entrepreneurship – and crafting something spectacular out of it just seems wasteful. Plus the whole narrative structure thing, where one should have acts and subplots and themes and character arcs and heroic journeys – I thought writing was about freedom of expression for God’s sake.
Point is, I’m several chapters into this train wreck and already making the mistake of all amateur writers – revisiting the first few chapters and hacking away at the chaff. This is somewhat akin to wiping your nose before sneezing, except instead of mild snot, you’re left with some sloughed off gray matter and a stomachache (Can’t we contract this word to form stomache and be done with it?)
To be fair, I was warned this whole process might take some effort. They (other authors) said I’d probably lose some hair, gain a few lbs., and begin to question the nature of humanity. They neglected, however, to mention the incessant desire to throw my laptop through a window, to toss some Xanax or Strychnine over the fence to quiet the neighbor’s barking dog (won’t happen) and the awkward Oreo craving when the little hand starts to head southwest.
Alas, the point of this rant was to breakthrough my writer’s block. I think I’ve managed that now. Thanks for the indulgence. My apologies for this literary nail in your skull.