People tell me I write well, that I have some bizarre blend of all my favorite authors that works. I read something today, some random quote from a FB friend, loosely paraphrased, to enjoy success, you are also risking failure. In many ways, day-to-day life is stagnant yet a shift into something better.
All the great responses I have gotten on my memoir made me pretty excited to see Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award come up again…Yet, novel implies fiction, and by God, ever painstaking moment in Long Sleeved Summers is real. Had it not been for that lying douchebag who wrote A Million Little Pieces, no doubt I’d be on the fast track to ending up somewhere I don’t want to be, Oprah’s Book Club. It’s somewhat an inside joke, whose answers is in the memoir! Be an insider!
Seriously, there are moments in life where I can sit in front of a screen, with music blasting and just write. Only my dog flipping his food dish interrupts this bizarre flow of conscience. I used to think I wrote really well on heroin. Maybe, if desperation was desired, but actual communication, slick double meanings, all these things come out when I am clean. It’s one of many lies I allowed drugs to tell my brain, after all, just look at music. That journey into the abyss is so obvious, and it’s sad some guys don’t get to dig themselves out of the hole, instead, just giving in and collapsing under the dirt.
So, back to Amazon, the last thing I have time to do is write a fictional book. But it’s exactly what I am going to attempt. Deadline is Super Bowl Sunday. Why am I doing this? I have no idea, other than a way to test myself, and take some chances. There is a lot to balance, with all the LSS stuff, but it will be fun to get outside myself for a little bit. Much of 2012 is going to be spent talking about myself. After all, what else am I going to do now that the Steelers are home?
Do what you love. Do it with passion.