Thursday, July 11, 2002
Well I can't get online today, so I am actually writing this (horror of horrors) on a sheet of physical paper, with an actual pen. It feels like I'm Fred Flinstone riding a brontasaurus and using it to lift rubble out of the quarry and playing records with a pterodactyl beak. Did they really do this in the old days? My hand is starting to hurt. How did Thomas Jefferson get through writing the Constitution without coming down with arthritis?
I am starting to discover I am hopelessly addicted to the internet and especially writing this blog. I wake up with the shakes, I need a hit of ultrablognetication. Fuk the crack gimme a keyboard mofo!! I need that good shit.
I was hoping Busta Rhyme's Anarchy would make me feel better, but it's just tensing me up.
Must... blog....must check my site-meter.... must read Tony Pierce..... must read Bill Simmon's ESPN page 2 column......
OK my hand's hurting but this ain't so bad. There's something kind of romantic about it. Like Ernest Hemingway coming home after a day of running with the bulls, tanking a bottle of bourbon, and cranking out The Sun Also Rises.
Writing is an interesting thing. Last summer I read an excellent book, Stephen King's On Writing, and in it his main piece of advice for writers was to read every day and write every day. Now that I have gotten into this habit, I find that one day without it & I'm reaching for the pen & paper. It's a beautiful thing, really. Reading and writing. It's pretty simple but amazingly effective. I can feel my creative juices percolating a little more every day.
I feel like Dr. Frankenstein, and you, my dear reader, are Igor, and the monster we are creating together is very much alive. Feed it. Nurture it. Pet it. Talk to it. Throw it a piece of candy every once in a while. I promise it won't bite, and it may give you something you never expected.
(OK I edited that last part a little bit)