(The alternate title for this post was “Listening to the youth of today, I’m pretty sure we’re all doomed,” but once I realized that the subjects of said title were en route to a vacation in the Middle East, I realized that their shock and awe display of stupidity had the potential to break wide open and spawn an international incident.

Thus the new title.

See you during a hostage negotiation, boys.)

So, to catch you up, I’m sitting here listening to these two (American) guys in their early 20s talking in the seat next to me on the plane.

And I use the word ‘talking’ lightly.

Basically one is edifying the other on the glorious diversifications of alcohols and their varying and sundry drinkability.

Clearly, a young alcoholic in the making, he is also a poet and a scholar, as you will soon learn.

His traveling companion doesn’t say much, preferring instead to giggle his responses.

Only they were both overweight and the real Beavis had chin-length hair. Otherwise? Exactly.

The two of them first caught my attention as my ears picked up on the sound of the Wizened One (let’s call him Butthead) instructing the Giggling One (Beavis) on the best bang for their airplane-sized mini-liquor $7.00 buck. Butthead went on a lengthy discourse about how awesome Courvosier is (which Beavis seemed to have never heard of. Obviously he doesn’t listen to much rap) and became notably upset that it was only available on trans-Atlantic flights.

It’s a common stereotype – the hard-drinking, brain-dead young man from the States – but you rarely encounter them in the wild. Usually, you have to go to frat houses and sports bars and keggers and the weightlifting section of the gym or lay a trap with a copy of Guitar Hero.

However, today is your lucky day. No such field trip is required. Sit back, pour a glass of your favorite 90-proof whatever, and enjoy:

“My favorite alcohol is probably cognac. And brandy is not the same thing as cognac.”

——-

“It’s called Scotch because it’s made in Scotland.”

——-

“I don’t drink American beer at all. I hate American beer. American beer is gross.

Mexican beer is good.”

***Five second pause***

“Alaskan Amber is probably my favorite beer.”

———-

Me working on, well, this actually here in Todos Santos, Mexico.

“What? Jungle juice?

Oh yeah, that’s fruit juice and 150 rum.

They call it jungle juice.

Do it in a five gallon bucket.”

———-

“I had sake once. It was disgusting.

It gave me an alcohol fever.

Any alcohol hot is gross. And it gives you an alcohol fever.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I loved the conviction with which he said it.

——

“There’s a big difference between Canadian whisky and bourbon. Yep. A big difference. There didn’t used to be. But there is now.”

———

“Spanish Fly is really good.

Especially with Thai food.”

Is Spanish Fly even real? I thought it was an urban legend or made up aphrodisiac like Funky Cold Medina?

————

Again, these guys were not remotely this thin. In truth, they were chunky monkeys.

Butthead: “A Mai Tai is like Chai tea.”

Beavis: “I don’t like that creamy stuff.”

Butthead: “Chai tea isn’t creamy. It’s like black tea with honey. And then you put rum with it.”

——–

“Me and my buddies get a big old water bottle and put Everclear in it. Everclear’s like really strong alcohol. And pineapple. It’s really good. Strong. It’s REALLY good.”

——-

And in the end, (despite the fact it was eight o’clock in the morning) and after much discussion about how to spend their $14.00, they ordered rum and Cokes. Hold the Coke.

So just rum.

Like pirates.

Ahoy, matey!

Shiver me timbers!

After deciding to save their mini liquor bottles as souvenirs, the rum kicked in and the deep thoughts really started flowing:

“There are plasma guns too. It’s the same stuff that’s in the TV. Plasma.”

——-

Beavis: “What day is this?”

Butthead: “Thursday. But it will be Friday when we get there.”

Beavis: “So today never happened?”

Butthead: “Right.”

——-

People were actually turning around in their seats in the rows in front of us to get a look at these jackasses.

——-

Butthead: “I heard Japan is very expensive.”

Beavis: “I think to fly there, but once you’re there, it’s cheap.”

Thus proving the old adage that birds of a feather do indeed fly together. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, Beavis was every bit as misinformed as his pal.

As for Japan. Yeah. Good luck with that.

——-

“Time is relative.

What that means is there’s only time with life. In heaven there’s no time.

And that’s just the beginning, if you can grasp it, that there’s going to be different flavors you’ve never tasted. And colors you’ve never seen.”

And – although he didn’t say it explicitly – booze you have yet to get stupid drunk on. Not  that God endorses that. He thinks you’re perfectly stupid just the way you are.

Out like a lamb

Surely I'm not the only one who finds this image retarded.

In case you’re living under a rock or not a native English speaker or both, that’s the little ditty they say about the month of March. And today is March 1st. All day long.

Kind of wild how fast the time goes.

It’s also wild in that today it is 60 degrees and sunny here in Washington, so I guess it’s in like heaven out like hell?

In like a puppy, out like a coyote?

Who knows?

Only time will tell.

And in my case, time will not tell because I won’t actually be here for the month of March, as I leave for Mexico on Thursday.

On the other hand, in case you were wondering, the origins of the expression can be found in astronomy. It has to do with the relative positions of the constellations Leo (the Lion) and Aries (the ram or lamb) in the sky at the beginning and end of the month of March.

Oh.

Now that I researched and read that, what I wrote above doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

The original definers of the constellations had very active imaginations. I probably would have named this one Dead Orchid.

No matter.

I’m sticking with it.

Largely because I’m all about obscure and boring info lately, and partly because I’m pressed for time.

Why’s that you ask? Well, to explain further, that’s because today  - March 1st – I start my new book, and in preparation I have become (dare I say?) a Jesus scholar.

I know. Weird, right?

Weird, but true.

The new book is kind of a second coming fantasy meets tragicomedy meets blasphemous romp.

Actually, it’s not meant to be blasphemous at all, but I’m sure somebody somewhere will think it is.

And regardless, today is day one both of March and of the book. And it’s important that I get off to a good start, so I’d best get back to it.

Which means this is all there is to the blog today.

Thanks for playing!

Better luck next time!

The lion and the calf shall lie down together, but the calf won’t get much sleep.

-Woody Allen

Since I’m on a mini-roll here, I figured I’d just stay with the same topic one more day.

That stated, do you know this poem?

Pondering the deep questions of life, like what's for lunch.

It’s been on my bathroom mirror for the last eight months, and I can attest that its message is absolute truth.

There’s maybe a little planning and organization that could go into the process that he doesn’t mention, but mostly he’s dead on: The words just come…or they don’t.

Any attempt to force them will sound that way and feel that way and you’ll end up deleting them anyway. It’s as implausible as it is true.

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours

staring at your computer screen

or hunched over your

typewriter

searching for words,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or

fame,

don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want

women in your bed,

don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and

rewrite it again and again,

don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,

don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody

else,

forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of

you,

then wait patiently.

if it never does roar out of you,

do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife

or your girlfriend or your boyfriend

or your parents or to anybody at all,

you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,

don’t be like so many thousands of

people who call themselves writers,

don’t be dull and boring and

pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-

love.

the libraries of the world have

yawned themselves to

sleep

over your kind.

don’t add to that.

don’t do it.

unless it comes out of

your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would

drive you to madness or

suicide or murder,

don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is

burning your gut,

don’t do it.

when it is truly time,

and if you have been chosen,

it will do it by

itself and it will keep on doing it

until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

–Charles Bukowski

So according to Wikipedia and abbreviated for your reading pleasure, Charles Bukowski’s gravestone reads: “Don’t Try”, a phrase which Bukowski uses in one of his poems, advising aspiring writers and poets about inspiration and creativity. Bukowski explains the phrase as follows:

Somebody asked me: “What do you do? How do you write, create?” You don’t, I told them. You don’t try. That’s very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It’s like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks you make a pet out of it.

Amen, brother.

I totally get that.

This blog is even like that. If I have nothing, I have nothing. And if I have something, it’s usually worth an hour of my time to write and ten minutes of your time to read. And if it’s not, then I don’t bother.

In the same way, as of late I’ve been on the receiving end of some well-intentioned cheerleading with the general refrain of”write your agent queries already!”

And I don’t disagree with the sentiment or the need for cash flow, but if I know one thing about myself, it’s that genius comes when it comes.

And when it shows up, you’d better have some paper and a pen handy, because it doesn’t hang out long.

One of the images you get when you type 'Don't Try' into Google and select 'Images.' I'm feeling it.

Here’s the deal: I have two paragraphs (think of the inner flap of a hardcover or the back page of a paperback) which which to bowl someone over and make them want to read my entire book, and it’s going to have to be brilliantly inspired prose to work. And brilliantly inspired prose of such focused brevity and import cannot be forced. It just comes when it’s ready.

Kind of like manna from heaven, it just falls into your brain ready to rumble.

So until then, I sit and wait and work on other stuff and massage the plot for the next book and hope that I’ll see my muse floating in through the window sometime soon. Paper and pen are on deck when she gets here.

It won’t be too long now.

I could’ve sworn I caught a glimpse of her the other day.

So cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to shortchange the Muse. It cannot be done. You can’t fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal. –William S. Burroughs

Or, to quote literary agent Janet Reid, whose blog I’ve been reading for the last week or so:

I don’t want you to be grateful I read your queries. It’s my job, and it’s in my best interest. I NEED good queries to make a living. Fuck grateful; write better queries.

Although in the last year I have written two books (one a memoir about my solo backpack trips through Europe in 1993 and 2008, and one a sci-fi novel about the world 100 years in the future after we’ve destroyed our own food chain and decimated the environment), I can’t necessarily claim to know what I’m doing.

Paper and pen are a good place to start...in 1888. Can you even imagine writing a whole book in script? Holy hand cramps, Batman!

At the same time, I have become pretty clear on what I did wrong, so perhaps my stupidity can be your gain?

Thus, without further rambling introduction, let me tell you how I approached the novel-writing process…which is your cue to pull a George Costanza and do everything the opposite of my instincts.

1. You’ve got a vague idea…so get writing!

Who needs a story arc, character studies, or even a clear sense of where you’re going? You’ve got a big idea and dream…so start putting words onto paper willy nilly. It’ll all work out.

Or something.

2. Have absolutely no sense of how long a chapter should be or how many of them there are.

Anarchy is the name of the game, baby. Look at Charles Bukowski: If you’re not totally out of control, you have no business calling yourself a ‘writer.’

3. Plot? What’s that?

See #2.

4. Take absolutely no notes on the names, ages, or other details of your characters.

It’s more fun to make up new names and vary the dates in which the whole book takes place. Change things as you go, because it’s soooooo much fun when you get to the end and everything is a giant clusterf*ck. Yay! Chaos!

I have been cultivating passive clarity for the last week, and I feel pretty darn good today.

5. Never, ever, ever edit along the way. Just write and write and write and write and plan to worry about it later.

One cannot appreciate how much it takes to create a clean novel until you’re knee-deep in hundreds of pages of your own free-association drivel.

6. Avoid ‘later’ like the plague.

Need I say more?

7. When taking large breaks for varying reasonable and irrational reasons, don’t re-read whatever was written previously, just carry on to the best of your recollection.

You will never fully grasp what a simple creature you are until you’re doing your first read-through and find that one character says or does the same thing six different times.

8. Go on endless tangents about characters you later decide to cut or intricately detailed, off-topic back stories no one in their right mind would ever want to read.

It makes things a little bit better when you get to number nine and…

9. Realize you are well on your way to a 1000-page novel

And no one wants to read a 1000-page novel, let along a 1000-page first novel. At least you have the rubbish referenced in #8 and can swiftly cut back to a nice, savory 750-page tome.

10. Have no idea how it ends

That way, every waking minute of your life can be consumed with the potential fates and prospective destinies of a bunch of imaginary people that only exist in your brain. Added bonus: Makes engaging cocktail party chatter!

As you  might imagine, things will be handled differently during attempt #2 (commencing next week). As it stands, I’m already working and re-working the chapter outlines and character studies, and I haven’t even written a single page yet.

Today he ate part of a brand new bar of lavender soap I bought for Mexico. Psycho.

Live and learn, people!

He dares to be a fool, and that is the first step in the direction of wisdom.  -James Gibbons Huneker

Tomorrow: How not to raise a dog.