Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Be a Ho

I have been told that I think like a Chinaman, that is to say, obliquely, but somehow accurately. The Chinese person is great at thinking for him or herself, but has trouble with the collective.

I have trouble witht the collective, certainly my imposed world of Google and Bill Gates. Googlie will not put up my blog pictures for me, and as I try to put up images in my blog, the images do not only disappear, but my attempts at putting up pictures turn into spam; I have to shut off my computer, try again, try again and finally-- go crazy.

Long interested in things oriental, I see as I toss the I-Ching that serious work should not be attempted on a full moon. There is a full moon out today and it seems to be blunting any sharp edge I have had to my overworked brain; It has, in fact become mush. I seem to stand to one side, watching it pitch and turn.

But I cannot blame it all on my oriental studies, nor the full moon.

There has been serious suckage in my projects for the past two years.
My old Newfie buddy puts it succinctly: "Press F for F*ck- up."

I would dearly love to put this in Latin, but I don't do Latin to well. Donus nus. Sumus fornicatus!

"Give it to us. We'll f*ck it up!"

Smarting over a rejection a few weeks ago, I went to a sucessful editor and he says, "Do film. Mediums have changed. Nobody wants novels any more. You are producing things nobody wants."

Have you ever tried writing a feature-length film? It's impossible. Same as with writing a novel.
(Still, the proud, secret twerp within me says, "You nevertheless managed to cobble a novel together, Motherf*cker.").
Well, that was a long time ago. Written, published, reviewed.
And just when it seemed you were on the way to Hollywood, as your reviewers urged, you lost all your money and started distributing free pizza coupons on the street. This is a novelist? This is a f*ck-up!

Buck up, f*ck-up!

Sort of like the Newfie in a bank holdup. Says to the teller, "This is a fuck-up!"

I am tired of rallying from defeats. All the Hollywood movies feature a hero who turns a disaster into triumph.
Gone With the Wind. Birdman of Alcatraz. All the Henry Fonda films.

Seems to me, the best way to rally from a defeat is to sit down and shut up.
Says the Newfie, "If at first you don't succeed, give up. No sense in making a damfool of yourself."

I am desperate for a drink.


"You look like a guy who's had the sh*t kicked out of him," says the bar owner.

"Well, if you don't cut off and ban for life that Scotsman soon, he's going to come over and kick the sh*t out of me. Twelve beers, and the asshole wants to fight...I need my face to teach with.
"Oh don't take rejection so hard, says the bar owner. Tell you what. You put in three ads for my sports bar inside you novel and I'll be your publisher. Ricci's Sports Bar."

Hey.
There is hope here. Published by anybody but oneself is a boon.

I intend to go home to look for the manuscript.

But there is some serious drinking to do yet.



I go back to my regular drinking buddy, my enabler, unofficial patron.

"Do porn," says the Newf, my friend.

"What do I know about the writing of porn?" I ask.

(I had just, in fact, read a book on sexual astrology and was enlightened by the information that Pisces like to roll in sh*t). "Write about rolling in sh*t,'" says my Newfie friend. Rabelais could do it. Became a masterpiece. You can do it too."
"This is the stuff of greatness?" I ask.
"Indeed," says the Newf. "Sh*t is money. Write sh*t."

No. I think I'd rather go with the Beatles' old song, Paperback Writer.

I will change this, I will change that, I will turn my earstwhile manuscript into porn.

"Be a whore," the first line will begin.
"Share your welfare cheque with the pimp until things get better."

"Now you're talkin'," says the Newf.

"Be a Ho.

"Now there's a title for you."

Well, "Be a Ho" it shall be.

And my barkeep will publish it.

"This is only the beginning, my Ontario friend," says the Newf.

"Hate to think of how you're now going to defend all your titles."

Hm.

Somebody has already written Deliverance!

17 comments:

ea monroe said...

Brother, I'm glad I'm not a Pisces!! ~Liz

ivan said...

Me too.

...As I recall, none of the Quarks are Pisces.

But am I going to get mail!

ivan said...

Omigod.

I just realized TomCat's sign is Pisces.
...Ah well. Gain some, lose some.

Josie said...

Ivan, you have to save the picture on your C:\ drive on your computer, and upload it from there. Then it will work.

Shesawriter said...

You have a gremlin in your computer, Ivan. You need to perform an exorcism to get him out. :-) But seriously, do you think you have a virus?

ivan said...

Josie,
All my technical problems seem to come up just when so many shoes are dropping around here, including my accountant.
Too frazzled right now to even attempt anything fancy on switching my picture download from the way Google-Blogger has it to images from my computer.
My techie is away, I am "away" and we hope things get better in the spring. Lol.

ivan said...

Tanya,
Yep. I got gremlins.
Don't know why.
Last time I visited a naughty site, I almost got cardiac arrest, and so, apparently--did my computer.
As for the virus, I do have Anti-Virus Guard, though I don't think I have one for my poor abused body.

My old chassis is starting to rock a bit, probably because of my life style, which is that of an 18-year-old drunkard and chain smoker.

...No question that both my computer and old Ivan--need an exorcism. :)

Charles Gramlich said...

Once you've published with one bar, you can create a franchise. You'll make lots of money. And the drinking can't hurt. Look at Hemingway, Faulkner, etc.,, etc.

Love "paperback writer"

ivan said...

Loved the comment, Chas.

Made my day.

Yep, I obviously like Paperback Writer as well.

Monique said...

I have discovered that when you have the money, all the crap you write will get on, as long as you produce it. No money, fat chance.

I don't care and keep on writing .... Oh my ... Forgot ... I'm the writer, director and producer (doesn't cost me a thing apart from dining and wining my cast) of Middle Ditch.

Get a Mac with garage band and start writing.

ivan said...

Monique,

Oh you are so right.

I had the former publisher of an important Toronto house say to me,
"It's the money. It's finding the money (to print your book)."

Trouble is, over here, is that when I have the money I just drink and drink and feel as if I'm John Updike!

Anonymous said...

Straight thoughts 162
January 22nd, 2008

Yesterday it was Martin Luther King day. His dream of equal dignity with respect to the colour of one’s skin was realized within a generation.

Today is the anniversary of Roe v. Wade and I have a dream of my own.

I have a dream that within my life time truth shall prevail, and abortion shall cease to be called a “procedure” and be recognized for what it is, the killing of a human being.

I have a dream that one day we will look back at our society, and our judges and our politicians and ask: “How could they?”

“How could a few judges affect all of society for two generations?”

"How could politicians not be moved to action?"

“How could they allow the killing of millions of their own children and continue with their daily business?”

“How could they destroy human life, when their knowledge of biology was so advanced as to know exactly when life begins?”

Just as today we look back at the Russians, and Stalin and his army and ask, “How could they?”

Just as we look back at the Germans, and Hitler and his Gestapo and ask: ”How could they?”

I shall not rest until cultural leaders like King will emerge, and set aside their own ambitions of fame and power, and dream of a world of justice and dignity for all.

Giuseppe Gori, Leader
Family Coalition Party of Ontario

ivan said...

Strong stuff, Giuseppe.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

And with mouth open I watch you dream of days you have forgotten
and nights that you still live in

creep back to the edge and find sanity laying the lap of love
For time has no worries and life is far too short

Find what once was and for now is lost ...

Ivan worry not, the world cannot forget hands that write like a privileged few and a mind that has witnessed heaven and the turmoil of hell.

T

ivan said...

Knew I was up waiting for something.
Thank you, Tara.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

smiles

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