The piece __ submitted was awful. Which shocked me because, you know, ___ journalist! _________ contributor!
But I really must be the world’s best editor ‘cause damn! if I did not make those words sing.
And the piece we published in Sooper Sekrit Standpoint is very fine indeed.
This makes me think that I have been approaching my own writing in absolutely the wrong way.
I have this compulsion to get it all right on the very first draft, which leads to hours and hours of rearranging commas, searching through weird linguistic appropriations for common adjectives, and other time-wasting activities. When really, I should be blurting it all out in as short a period of time as possible and shoving it in my underwear drawer for three months.
Three months is about the right length of time to lose the muscle memory of writing it.
Then I should take it out of the drawer and edit the hell out of it.
‘Cause as surely as Bruce Springsteen was born to run, baby, I was born to edit!
I have been in the same general washed-out mood for several weeks now. Unengaged, one might say.
This weekend I’m supposed to write a piece on the Five Trump Insurgency Blogs YOU Should Be Reading!
That Five…You Must… formula is guaranteed clickbait.
Trouble is I have only identified two Trump Insurgency Blogs you must read – and one of them is by an insufferable prick whom I honestly think no one should read.
The other is by a sinister genius who espouses the darkest, most inflammatory thoughts ever but does so in a rich, delicious style that makes me shiver so that every time I set my browser to his site, I feel as though I've just been presented with a plate of chocolate-covered, absinthe-filled cherries. He is Rimbaud – after the teenage rockstar poet years, when Rimbaud was a weary smuggler working the Abyssinian coast.
But now I have to come up with three other pro-Trump blogs!
Plus – as always – I must toil in the Scut Factory mines.
For I have CV axles to fix and trips over Memorial Day to take.