I am reading this book about 1,001 things I can do, or anyone can do when you are not sure what is it that you want to do.
One of the sections is titled “Be An Author.” I thought about it because to write this blog is one of the things I do where I do not have to clean, exercise, or get my hands dirty, except exercise the few neurons left in my brain, and then is just a matter of sitting and typing away.
Now the question was to myself…there are a lot of people writing stuff that should be baptized under the name of crapola. Sometimes when I am watching my “novelas,” that’s my soap operas in Spanish, and I get very intolerant with some of the characters, especially some of the female characters. They are portrayed as really gorgeous looking, but so, so, oh dumb! Thanks goodness for the meditation sessions I just started. They help a lot to calm myself down and be objective. Just watch and listen. That’s what I tell myself. After all, no one is perfect. Beauty and no brain. Let’s not talk about the male characters. A lot of testosterone and definitely total absence of gray material up there. Nice looking chests I may say. Have you noticed how all the guys are starting to look like the Hulk? So huge chests, and tiny little hands to touch them. Oh well, what gives. Some of the women are growing large necks and arms that look like wrestlers. We need to be careful to exercise in moderation or…we are going to become the planet of the hulks. That’s for another chapter.
Now, everybody is looking to write the next Great American Novel. I decided I cannot possibly do that, or even try to do that. I am looking to maybe get an ouput called — The Next Inferior American Novel –so that will take the stress away.
Now that I decided on the category, let’s see how long it will take me to get going. Hey, you should know how much of a procrastinator we writers are. We only live by bread and water alone. In your dreams. I need my 72% chocolate.
So…it was today…a day to ponder about my writing career…or not.
Your Happy Contessa
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Ernest Hemingway. American novelist. 21 July 1899 – 2 July 1961.