Woah, Brendan has a secret writing project! Very cool. I think that writing on the web is a lot like being a junkie. When you start off, you do a little bit and you enjoy yourself. Soon, you get involved in the subculture, meet a few people, and decide, "Hmm, maybe this is where I belong." Then it escalates. You need to do it more and more, in bigger and bigger doses, until one day, you find yourself ransacking your grandmother's medicine cabinet so you can down her goiter medication. I can only assume this is what happened to Brendan, and I am here to to tell you that it's happening to me.
I've felt the itch for a while now, but I didn't know what to do with it. Having demonstrated how ill-suited I am for short fiction with the debacle that was CarlosJacott.com, I decided it would be something different, something longer. Slowly, the pieces began to fit together in my head, until it reached the point where I thought the only thing between me and a really great end result was a mere 80,000 words. I tried a few times to get started, but I had a hard time continuing with what I started; the task just seemed too daunting. Then, a couple of weeks ago, in a Fiddle Faddle inspired delirium, I decided to give it one more try. It started off well, as it usually does, but this time, I actually managed to keep it going.
It's been a little while now and I'm off to a good start. In fact, I'm secure enough in the progress I've made to open it up to the jackals of the Internet. Well, not right now. But soon! Some time, over the next couple of weeks, look for me to unleash the beginning of my masterpiece, Brown Fizzie. And to those of you with the gall to suggest the world has seen enough stories about a war between a bordertown mafioso and an aging Mexican wrestler, I can only wave my hands theatrically and make a mental note to burn your house down. Brown Fizzie! Coming soon! Sorry this entry wasn't funny! Blame Brendan!
Posted by Cody at June 21, 2004 6:23 PMpost some, you fag!
Posted by: xyz at June 21, 2004 6:14 PMWe'll see who's the fag after you've read the first paragraph!
Inside the barn, a man was yelling that a rooster had cheated. His beak was fake, he said, someone check that fake beak. The pumpjacks out back trotted away, like a team of old nags. In the distance, a pick-up without a muffler rumbled through the roads, hauling baby carrots to a destination unknown The night was thick with sound, and clutching the side of the corrugated steel building, I leaned over for my solo. A deranged turkey's gobble escaped from my throat, along with a pool of vomit shaped exactly like Paraguay. Maybe it was Urugary, I'm not sure. The only thing I was certain of at that moment was that I'd never again eat the food served in a Mexican whorehouse.
Way to go. I remember when you told me about this back in January so its about damn time you got started. Word.
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