The Muses Have Come to Dinner and Other Tales of Possession
Ok. This morning when I got up, I had 2 1/2 pages of my novella written. Now I have 10 and some change. And I have been gone for the better part of the afternoon. This means, of course, that I have been writing feverishly for about 2 hours. I feel as if I have been possessed by these writing demons which have turned me into this prodigiously wordy, crazily creative, pretentiously observant beast. It's not wholly a bad thing.
Seriously. Writing (fiction of course) is to me what doing crack is for a lot of people. I am so totally wired right now. I am bidding on Ebay and drinking, and sending out frantic emails that say, "READ MY STUFF, DAMMIT!" to my trusted friends, and, well, my mother interestingly enough. I just won a pair of pants, and if things go according to plan, in the next four hours, I could be the proud new owner of a set of Alvin and the Chipmunks glasses from 1985 (you know, the ones that came from Libby or some such giant food corp--I had Simon and Theodore, and Theodore--who will always be my favorite--got broken, so Simon is lonely, BUT NOT FOR LONG, BITCHES!!!). And in the middle of all this, Matt is snoring on the couch in a pair of Underdog pajama pants and a Kramer t-shirt, with Fight Club splayed all over his chest. It is ruining the binding, but I don't have the heart to wake him and tell him. Oh well.
It is oddly exhilerating. Really. But I don't quite know what to do with myself. Should I write more? Should I stop? Should I pray? Is Law and Order on anywhere? How many more of these Mike's Hard Lemonades do we have, because if I'm going to lose my mind I want to do it while throwing back pure sugar and alcohol. It's hard for me to imagine Tolstoy getting this crazy while he wrote, but maybe it happened. Maybe he threw back a few vodka shots, and ordered himself some commemorative tsar plates. The world will never know.
I seriously am at loose ends. I have new underwear. Did I tell you that? I am so cool.
Well, I am going to go, as I can't think of anything more to describe how I feel right now and far be it for me to beat and old dead horse. Think of me as you lose your mind!
Seriously. Writing (fiction of course) is to me what doing crack is for a lot of people. I am so totally wired right now. I am bidding on Ebay and drinking, and sending out frantic emails that say, "READ MY STUFF, DAMMIT!" to my trusted friends, and, well, my mother interestingly enough. I just won a pair of pants, and if things go according to plan, in the next four hours, I could be the proud new owner of a set of Alvin and the Chipmunks glasses from 1985 (you know, the ones that came from Libby or some such giant food corp--I had Simon and Theodore, and Theodore--who will always be my favorite--got broken, so Simon is lonely, BUT NOT FOR LONG, BITCHES!!!). And in the middle of all this, Matt is snoring on the couch in a pair of Underdog pajama pants and a Kramer t-shirt, with Fight Club splayed all over his chest. It is ruining the binding, but I don't have the heart to wake him and tell him. Oh well.
It is oddly exhilerating. Really. But I don't quite know what to do with myself. Should I write more? Should I stop? Should I pray? Is Law and Order on anywhere? How many more of these Mike's Hard Lemonades do we have, because if I'm going to lose my mind I want to do it while throwing back pure sugar and alcohol. It's hard for me to imagine Tolstoy getting this crazy while he wrote, but maybe it happened. Maybe he threw back a few vodka shots, and ordered himself some commemorative tsar plates. The world will never know.
I seriously am at loose ends. I have new underwear. Did I tell you that? I am so cool.
Well, I am going to go, as I can't think of anything more to describe how I feel right now and far be it for me to beat and old dead horse. Think of me as you lose your mind!
posted by Southern Belle at 11:04 PM
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