Posts tagged writing

1. Matthew Perry’s character on The Good Wife.

2. Drag queen Sharon Needles.

3. Anton Chigurh, villain of No Country for Old Men. Specifically, Javier Bardem’s portrayal of him.

4. What I would look like if I dyed my hair blonde.

5. If I were to own an art house movie theater, which older/cult-classic films would I show? (First answer: Purple Rain. Every weekend.)

6. If I had a podcast, what would it be called and who would I try to get as my first guest? (First thought: it would have the word “Underground” in its title and use David Bowie’s song of the same name as its theme song.)

7. Moving to New York City.

8. Moving to Chicago.

9. Whether or not a pedicure using glitter nail polish is too juvenile for a grown-ass woman.

10. Eurovision.

You know that thing where you read something you wrote a week, or longer, after it was published and you think, “damn, that is good! I wrote that?” and you honestly don’t remember writing something that good but you know it had to have been you because you edit your own material and you know no one changed your words behind your back, but you had been working on the piece for so long that the words on the page became almost invisible and you thought it was shit at the time but published it anyway because you wanted it out of your face and once it was out there, no one commented on it or said anything to you about it, so you figured everyone else thought it was shit, too, but it turns out that it was really good and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself because you are a good writer?

That thing is the best thing.

You know thing of how you put off writing something because you’re blocked and have nothing to say and you do pretty much everything you possibly can instead of writing said thing, such as laundry, cleaning the house, making iTunes playlists, thumbing through cookbooks, and watching horror movies? And then when you finally force yourself to sit down and write the thing at the last possible moment and the words just flow out, like they’ve been there all along but they’ve just been fucking with you by hiding in the deepest recesses of your brain, kind of like how your brother would pick the most ridiculous hiding places when you played hide and seek as children and he hid so well that one time that no one could find him and the cops came and your parents almost lost their goddamned minds and then you found him hiding under a table laughing because he was so proud of himself for hiding so well and then you had to warn him that Mom and Dad were probably going to kill him, but he still thought it was funny?

That thing.