No, it’s true, really. The acerbic, droll chick that rolls her eyes a lot is really excited. Why? I’ve got a new book in my head. And I’m going to give it birth. Woo Hoo!
As to the style and format of the book, check out my post here: http://kurtbrindley.com/tag/heavy-bags-of-soul/ courtesy of Kurt Brindley.
I ended it on a joke but it’s true. I’m putting my MFA hat on for this book. It’s going to be a doozy and I can’t wait to start it. It will also either be published by a large company or never see the light of day. I’ve promised myself to only send it to agents and big imprints (which basically means agents). And getting it out of me is going to be HARD. Hard to write. Writing is hard for me anyway- writing where I really say something anyway. Reference the post above. That was exceptionally hard to write and probably about three people read it. The droll chick is about to sound bitter and cynical. On to another topic. No wait, what I mean is, this will be a different kind of hard. Laying things bare kind of hard.
Who are we as writers if we hide behind our words like ice in a bourbon, cold and separate, melting little bits into the whole that no one ever sees? Who are we as writers if we feel we owe the world every Plath-like open veined grimace?
I’m so excited that I’m excited even about the title for this book. It’s all top secret.
I’ve also taken some classes, because wine.
No, not really. Because cool. Cool, reading/hearing stuff from others about writing. For every three things I already know there is one thing that makes me go “Oh!” And then there are the things that make me go “Oh my god!” “Oh my god” stuff I never knew. And then I want to crawl into a hole but remember I can’t because I currently can’t move my back at all. Ah life. Anyway, the classes were really cool and I have one more to still take so lots of cool stuff to intersperse with writing as well as some marketing still left for my current release The Brevity of Twit, to make it into a print book as well.
And where is this all leading? Well right now it’s leading me to the couch because I can’t sit up anymore.
But no, I meant it’s leading me down literary lane. I am about to write a literary book.
But before you slice me with a dagger and leave me chained to a rock for the vultures to pick at, let me get it out first. I swear, it won’t be pretentious, contemporary, narcissistic rambling. And unlike Heavy Bags of Soul, I swear I won’t make it half coded and unfathomable unless you commit to studying every branch of philosophy, etymology of language, and ancient religion.
So I’m excited.
I’ll be scared later, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.