Oh. Em. Gee. (hahaha, yes, I just did that!) I’m such a bad blogger. I should be flogged as a blogger who hasn’t posted in TWO AND A HALF WEEKS. But alas! Since I’m the boss of me and the boss of this blog, there’s nobody to order the flogging. And that’s right, being an expert on psychic self-flagellation (which is of the psyche, not done telepathically, all you word whores out there), I’ve been beaten up about it enough already. Ok. I’m done with this part.
Let’s move on to today’s ramble (hopefully about something having to do with books/writing/publishing, but probably about whatever the fuck I feel like talking about):
So, I haven’t really felt like talking about anything, which is kind of why I haven’t been blogging. And, dear readers, you know that what I mean when I say, “I haven’t really felt like talking,” it’s just that I want to blab about bullshit that isn’t blog-worthy for theblabbermouthblog, because I never really “don’t feel like talking.” So, as the eponymous blabbermouth that I am, I’m going to blab/blog about whatever I want to anyway. That’s right, because as I said before, you’re not the boss of me.
So. WTF is up with that show Princesses: Long Island? They’ve managed to deeply offend me in just about every way they can. I watched about 3 minutes of the show by accident the other night, as I waited for one of my Sunday night shows to start. In 3 minutes I was offended as a woman. As a feminist. As a Jew. As a Long Islander. As someone born and raised in Freeport. As someone with half a brain in my head. Then I started reading the shit storm that hit the interwebs, by all the other offended people. That show, the people who are in it, who created it, and who air it, are like cultural Bernie Madoffs. That show will do more to fan the flame of American anti-semitism than all the skin head parades and radical Jihadist websites of the past ten years put together. It turns my stomach and let me say right here and right now: that show just ain’t the way it really is. To read people who are way more eloquent than I, see this New Yorker article and this Huffington Post blogger.
Now, how does this relate to writing? (Just watch this! It will be like magic, how I can actually make a connection that exists only tenuously at best!) Did I write the blog post that I was supposed to? Did I write the blog post that I thought would sell? Did I try to gauge the industry’s receptivity to my blog post? No. I wrote what was there for me. I wrote something I felt called to write. I wrote something I had to; where I had something to say that wouldn’t stay quiet. And THAT, my friends, is what you should be doing with your fiction, too.
Now, I know that many of my (parenthetical) asides are snide, or snarky, or go for the joke, but I’m actually serious about this. Tell the story you have to tell. The one clambering to get out. If there’s no story like that for you, search for one. Try writing prompts (see my colleague Stefanie Lipsey’s fantastic website) or register for my writing retreat to kickstart your creativity. Go to a writing conference or join a critique group that will hold you accountable for producing something. But whatever you do, don’t try to figure it out with your logical brain because you’ll probably write shit that way.
Ok. I’m done rambling. And I’ll try to do better by you, my lovelies. I’ve hereby recommitted myself to regular posting on the blog, whether I’m feeling inspired or not. Because apparently (see above) I can start writing about just about anything and bring it around to writing/books/publishing.