I just found a website making money off my words.
“I am not a snack for your starving ego, I am soul food for someone who actually has one.”
I FUCKING WROTE THAT. IT’S MINE.
You can now wear my heart, on a t-shirt, sip coffee from it or pack your groceries in it.
Oh the fucking irony.
My New Year’s resolution was to start making a living from my words, and someone else already is.
Just as I am about to publish this wherein I begin by saying…I cannot, for the life of me, write snippets. Its epilogues or nothing.
But not soul food.
I’m hard pressed to find pull quotes that can stand alone without the context of the article to support them.
I am way too wordy.
I am not a poet.
I am barely a writer.
First person flowery diary entries on a blog platform do not a writer make.
Oh god, I just realized what I am. I am a reality TV show.
Unscripted chaos. Grade 10 reading level for the most part. No one to bleep my swear words, or edit.
I have a quarter of a million views upon this website. So I’m doing something kinda right I guess.
I take issue calling it a blog (even though it is) like some strippers hate being called strippers (even though they are).
I’m friends with some seriously good poets/writers.
I don’t want to ask them how they do it. I know there’s no answer. There is no scientific formula that can condense 500+ rambling words into 50 or less poignant ones that shoot straight through the reader’s heart and either lift it up or dash it against the rocks of their psyche, depending.
I am a drunk throwing punches willy-nilly at a bar fight I have no business being involved in, landing a couple by fluke but mostly just looking the fool.
If I was alive when the bible was written I wouldn’t have had a fun job like proverbs or psalms, I am the long ramblings that make not a lot of sense out of context and Methusala begat Junopres and they raised sheep for in the valley of evil with their 89 kids until one of them did something stupid 26 pages later and there was a righteous smiting by the Lord amen and shit.
When I first started writing this thing I had no structure or discipline. Still don’t but (lucky for all y’all) I do have word counts. My maximum has been set at 1515 per article. I too am a Sesame Street child, if I have to scroll too long to get to the end of something I lose interest.
I know why I am like this.
Panda and I had a conversation yesterday about my ‘attachments’. I get attached to people and things.
I know why, I lived my formative years without people and things.
I write so prolifically and wordy because I didn’t write a word for 25 years.
Poems I had written while high on acid were the trigger for the burning of all my writing at age 15.
Everything went into the fire and I shut my mouth for a quarter of a century.
Including the collection of short stories I had published at age 12. The poem I won an award for at age 11.
All I ever really wanted to do was write and that went up in flames. Recognition for words was not as important as medals for sports, good grades etc. What I wanted didn’t matter. What would the neighbors think?
It’s funny now that I am an adult and I do my own things, the things I chose to do are the same as the things that brought me joy as a child. Writing, photography and I made jewelry for a time. I am pretty good at them.
And now that I can live and write out loud again I have to say all the things.
Never had a boyfriend in my teen years, gotta have all the boyfriends now.
Didn’t have a lot of clothes growing up and my closet is an overflowing gypsy magpie nest of sparkles, flowers and covetousness.
Once you see the source of the problem, it becomes easier to fix.
This blog is about self-discovery, documenting the ridiculous things I do, find the patterns and reasoning and work it out.
I admire poets, I love the gambit of emotions they can elicit with a few well-chosen words.
Doesn’t mean I have to covet or emulate.
I am me… wordy, nerdy, needy, slutty and dressed to the gypsy nines…and that is okay.
But I can share them