Inside my notebook, the hardest thing to find is a blank page. Pages have chicken scratches, scribbles, or simple ink checks scratched into the page. Like life, my notebook is tarnished by the many ink checks to see if there is still life in this old pen.
Life is the many events which make us Feel alive. Events that tarnish our virgin white pages. Innocence lost in the accumulation of scribbles on the pages of our soul.
Once a month, I go to my local distributor of literary magazine and pick up a small fortune in independent publications. The cashier knows to give me every literary magazine in stock, I only have to walk up to the register. She hands me a bag filled with “Mc Sweeny’s” and a gang of other titles to tantalize my inner word smith. At home, my bathroom has been turned into a small publication news rack, which is where I found American Short Fiction.
When the police find me in shady back alleys, hanging with subculture freaks, whacked out on more drugs than you can shake a stick at, I will blame the Ramones. I am a punk from the old days, when the King of Pop Culture made it look cool and I first heard “The KKK Took My Baby Away.” I disbelieved my young ears, a song about a girlfriend taken away by a group of sheet wearing rednecks couldn’t exist but it did. I craved to hear more. Generation X would have its folk music. Yet, our battle cry was inner and self defeating.
“How many drafts?”
“As many as it takes.”
The drivel on the web and in self-publishing is horrid. Too often young writers are in such a hurry to see their name on book, they rush through the experience like a loss of virginity. They deign the need for a rewrite and their ideas comes out jumbled. A Rewrite is when a writer takes the reins of their prose. Revision is the stage when clarity comes to ideas, word blend together, and a work of art is created.
“What woman chooses to live with a Dishwasher?”-Charles Bukowski – Ham on Rye
To answer Burcowski’s question, Pete Jordon, aka Dishwasher Pete, has written a compilation of his adventures entitled “Dishwasher”. For 10 years, Dishwasher Pete traveled the United States in a goal to wash dishes in all 50 states of the red, white and blue. He is well known in the Indy world with his notable zine of the same name “Dishwasher”, a tribute to his quest, and the book’s release marks the culmination all his adventures.
Hey Kiddies,
For today’s exercise, we will dive into our comic book collection and have a little fun. We will work on our whole story telling experience. I advocate old comics, as they tell a story all in one shot, where as newer comics can hardly tell a b-line story in one issue. With old comics (really spend like 50 cents from the cheap bin) we have our first, second and third act. All plotted out for us in visual glory. We have a story in graphic form. Our mission is to translate the pictures to words. I used this exercise as an excuses to pick up “Batman Showcase”, an anthology of classic Batman comic books but use any graphic novel of your choice.
I am not,
what you call,
a picky eater.
I will
eat anything
placed on a plate.
However, I
have to
eat in order.
Made of Honor: a film
I’m trying to remember Jeff Large and the CDs he might have left behind when he left Los Angeles. Jeff had a few prize possessions, one of which was the William Burroughs/Kurt Cobain CD “The Priest They Called Him”; which was not nearly as rare as Jeff would have us believe –though it might be rare now. Apparently the CD was recorded with Burroughs reading at one sitting and Kurt playing at a different one. The two performers never met.
I knew I didn’t put enough money in the parking meter and I impetuously attacked the meter maid when we returned to the car and found him putting a ticket under the windshield wiper. I was arrested. Troy drove the car back to my parents’ house (it’s there car) and took a nap on my futon.
Hey ANFers,
I am going to take the week off from posting and try and get you guys some good material for once. But I am stuck without internet for the near future, there is a long story filled with the fun stuff of life. Remember out there, Life is getting hit. And your old friend at ANF is exeriencing all the fun of life. So, Next week, New better content.
When I hear a liberal blowhard go on about how republicans and the faithful are ruining this country, I know their right. But I also know, the only American Saint is a republican, faithful, and my mother
Ginny Bridle-Russel was born Virginia “Ginny” Bartlett, a direct descendant of Joshia Bartlett, signer of the declaration of independence for New Hampshire. Ginny grew up on the outskirts of Concord, New Hampshire with her sister Nancy, mother Betty and father John. Little is know of those young years, like Jesus, Ginny’s youth is shrouded in mystery. She attended Plymouth State collage and gained in education that would lead to a life mission in child care. She would also meet her first husband, Allen Bridle, on the snow capped campus.
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