Thursday, March 22, 2012

write

I figure the writing must be driving him crazy so I call him and find him staring at a screen. He answers with his signature, Hello.

I hold the phone away from my ear, Do you hate writing?

Yes.

I hear him just fine facing the phone, How much do you hate writing?

I fuckin' hate writing.

I laugh but he doesn't. So what's the problem? Too much pressure?

No. I don't know where to go. I need to know what the take is on this. I need a direction. Is it how great we are down here and everyone should come see us? Is it you and your weird fascination with him? Is it photography 'cause I don't know anything about photography. Is it the blues 'cause I see what he's sayin' but.


Do you think maybe you're trying to control it too much?


What? Geez. No.


Listen to me. Have you stared at the screen for an hour and become suicidal and thought you could never write and you hated yourself for it and you can't believe you ever even considered it as a profession and you're gonna have to get new friends and family 'cause you told them all you could write except those few who'll laugh with you once you get outta the mental institution and accepted failure as a life choice?


Yes.


Well then let go. Put on your favorite music and write one line. Any line, whatever comes to mind. Then stop and stare at the line until it gives you the next one.


I don't write like that. That's not how I do it.


Ya' know those three lights Ken said I should get? I have no idea what they are 'cause I didn't listen.


Are you turning this into some story with a moral?


Yes. It's soon to be turned into a feature film and we were wondering if you could play the dickhead.


I don't write like you. I need a direction.


You can write about not knowing photography, what you think of this place, that time you were how old? Fifteen? Sixteen and you were down in Como in front of that stage? I want to hear that and be there. Look how close you live to highway four. What's that like?


Shut up. I got it.


Bye.


Bye.






Grateful for connections, for friends who understand writing can be one of the loneliest places.
It's like at it's core it has to be.



Now it makes sense. Like a moral to a story.




2 comments:

Anonymous said...

KRYPTONITE

Shea Goff said...

fortress of solitude