I may not be very good at it, the publishers might want endless variations on something i invariably and belatedly realize was hopelessly wanting, but it is a saving grace, this writing, my soul's silver tongue that seeks solid ground after so much tossing in this flawed vessel.
two pieces of good news, soul. there's dramamine and the writing can only get better with time.
in this rampant, loveless city of perpetually youthful angels, the latter's reality is a rarity.
i'm working on a novel, a memoir, a script, and want to write more short stories. i also intend to regularly procrastinate by posting pictures of writerly things like this old typewriter advertisement.
and so the journey from optimistic novice to whiskey-drinking pessimist continues. may as well try and get published on the way.
