UNTITLED

As a writer (and I mean that in the sense of “one who writes things down,” inclusive of shopping lists, epic novels, pie recipes, etc.), I find myself on rare occasions having written something that I actually kind of like.

For example, in that song about Russ Tamblyn, I had a strong initial reaction to seeing this part written out: “The damp concrete/Smells like birdseed/So the starlings circle idly/With open bills.”

My practice when I write anything that resonates with me is to then read it over in my head semi-obsessively, until I finally hate it. I then assign a level of merit based on just how long it took for me to hate it.

So, if you see me skip a day of posting, there’s a good chance it’s because I’m still working on developing a healthy enmity for all or part of the previous post…