(Note: I tried posting this at 1pm, but fucking Typepad was down, so here it is, LATE.)
And make it good! Make it socially relevant! Make it trenchant, whatever that means! Make it wear a trenchcoat! Come on, Erlbaum, you're behind schedule today. Pick up the slack and post, so you can go to the writer's room before the writer's group this evening, writer writer writer, maybe if I say it three times per second it will be true, maybe it will write itself. If only it would write itself. I would pay it to write itself, to leave me alone and write itself, if I had any of my advance left, HAH. But can it delete itself? No, only I can write and delete, write and delete, check my email, write and delete. Why don't I get out of its way so it can just write the thing without me? Well, I can't trust it not to embarrass me in public. Writer writer writer writer. How boring. Do you really have to record everything? Couldn't you just maybe experience it? Do it? Be in it? Ignore it? Willfully not notice, not describe, not choose words for, not compare to? Is this it? Is this it? Is this it? That's the most accurate description of life I've ever written: Is this it? Good, now maybe I can go write something.
(Other note: Turns out I barely wrote anything today. Oh well.)