Post After Writing

My title has a redundancy; but only in one interpretation. What I mean to say is I'll post after I finish my grand words. I'm still rather bogged at this juncture in the story but I'm going to grind ahead and get out the other side, into the downhill-race to the end. Then if I need to come back and finish something in the middle or re-write it then by God that's what I'll do.

Still digging the Cleavage and the Immediate Fiction. The dude pretty much spells out all the issues that I've encountered. I honestly believe that if I'd read this book in 2003, when I was first coming back to writing (at the advice of my therapist at the time...who, one day, in the middle of my couchified rambles, stopped me and said, "Are you a writer?" To which I replied, "no, although I always told chicks I was.") I would have...I would have discarded this book as a piece of trash written by a hack. Back then I had this cringe-inducing faith in "talent." Hah.

So the teacher appeared when the student was good and worn out, after the student spent four years thrashing and mauling his reflection in a puddle.

I am confident, my friend, that there is some nurse, somewhere, who still wears those white-silken hose w/the seam up the back of the calf, those o-so-sensible white shoes w/the stack rubber heel, and that just-uncomfortable-enough dress w/the zipper traversing its entire length. Yes, and that nurse will specifically dig the handsome but slightly graying intellectual writer type (she will think of you as an intellectual -- this is necessary to her fantasy). And she will understand that you're undergoing a certain degree of emasculation in this colon scope (understand like an animal, w/her emotions) and will seek to make reparations in the form of a long, slow unbinding of the zipper's teeth as you sit propped in the hospital bed, speechless, your eyes flicking to the door and the telephone as if to verify that you're not dreaming.

Well shit, I guess I just posted after all. Anything to avoid the story!