A couple of years ago I thought of writing my blog live.
By live I mean that I come up with a title and story based on the flimsiest of ideas and immediately publish it then work feverishly in front of gawd and everybody to congeal it all into some kind of sense.
Sometimes it works and sometimes it don’t. The mix of conscious and unconscious has to be juust rat…
I’ve had to take some stories off this blog the next day because they were written by the 66% dough-head drunk part of Barry Williams and were just a tad too far out for any sober mind to comprehend.
Live writing means I will be updating stories for up to 18 months after they’re written for spelling errors (mostly words spelled right that shouldn’t oughta be) and for sure daze after the original publish date.
Trying pants on in public is what live writing feels like to me.
I’ve never done the undressing in WalMart thing but this is how I imagine it would feel with the added bonus of probably having handcuffs on.
Coming up with the original idea seems to be the easy part for me on account of even short stories of thirty words or less requiring many edits.
And wine. Many wines.
Anyway, my writing is definitely getting better and part of it is knowing that a few of the same people are lying in wait and reading this blog everyday.
They’ve seen me through my good & bad days.
They’d recognize me in my boxers.
Thank you, friend.
I’m seeing like all kinds of Freudian and Jungian slips as I edit this story but so far, none by the author.