End Of A Month
How do you knock on Internet wood? Today was probably the best day I've had in a year, the head clear from the first minute, the energy and focus like days of old, if I could honestly say I can remember my days of old to make a comparison. Unconscious, but clear? Brilliantly stupid? What was a clear day when I was twenty? What's a clear day today, for that matter, and how would I convey it? Still, a string of these days and we'll see some change. Yes we will. Work, writing, photography - who knows, maybe automobiles and studio lights - will take on new dimension. He said. Confidently, looking for a piece of Internet wood. Isn't it good? Internet wood?
I read the first seventy-five pages of Why Girls are Weird last night. My, my. A touch of deja vu if you've read Squishy during the days of Archipelago. It reads well. It's, you know, Pamie, but with rewrite. A blurb on the inside back cover mentions Pamie was at one point getting close to a million hits a month. That's a lot.
Are we envious?
Well, I wanted to plug the book - it is reading well - but it's hard to do it without seeming envious. Pamie's writing a humor column, really, as I once wrote a humor column at her age. She does it better, but all I'm remembering is how hard it was to write, how you really had to stretch out into look like an idiot land - tell the emotional truth, in other words - all naked and icky in front of the public. If it's going to work, if anybody's going to read it.
Journalers have all had the thought, well, if I were to pick up another domain in another name, another moniker, and write things, well, more scandalous; stretch the truth a bit, the decision, by the way of Pamie's protagonist, who feels a need, to, um, embellish. Still requires all that emotional honesty crap from the writer if it's going to work. There's no free lunch and that, for me, is where it fizzles. No guts, no glory. Still, a million hits. What does your ISP bill look like at the end of a month?
Postscript. I remembered to pick up the film. None of it worth a damn, but I remembered as I was having lunch. Progress, I guess.