#permafiction

pssst @ur-fav-is-transid

Back from Thanksgiving and fuck… I feel like I’ve cheated on someone. Usually my weekends are reserved for writing, cuddling my dog, and getting drunk and cooking, but with all this holiday hubbub, I couldn’t write. Its hard getting back into the swing of things. Its like i’ve scorned a lover and I’ve got to ease my way back in, or, i’ve got blue balls and I’m scared of whats going to come out. But it’s got to be done. I’ve decided that I can’t NOT write anymore. A couple of years ago I didn’t write for probably four months. All types of crazy shit started flying through my head like, should I go back to college? Should I get my old job at the movie theater back? What the hell am I doing with my life?! Now things are a little clearer. Writing is like a fowl mouthed bridge troll I keep in the back of my head and feed peanuts to, constantly yammering about the day he’ll get his revenge. It’s not like people told me I would never succeed (family, friends, coworkers, baseball coaches excluded), I just want to go a different route and come out at the end saying “See! I fucking told you!”. Not very zen of me but oh well. How can you do anything creative, be it hobby or side gig, and work a forty hour week? Jimeny Christmas! No wonder people just get fast food on the way home from work, eat in front of the TV, and passing out. Netflicks and chill, more like Netflicks and fall the fuck to sleep. But who am I to complain? I make pretty good money, live in an apartment, eat well, got warm clothes, compared to most people in the world, I’m living like a God. What a spoiled brat I must be to complain about not having enough time to peruse my true desires because I’m too tired from work. Its a western luxury that I live in such an affluent country that I can work forty hours a week, right? It would all be picture perfect if I were a damn robot and didn't care one way or the other about anything. We're human! We need to change our surroundings, solve shit, and most important of all create things. The first tool was arguably a hand axe, a big rock with a sharp side so you could run up to a half eaten gazelle with an napping lion nearby, bludgeon your way through a joint, and peace out with breakfast lunch and dinner on your shoulder. Why? Because they wanted more time to spend doing the shit they really wanted to do, like working on that sweet little song on the bone flute, or learning that new dance that everyone's so hyped about, or inhaling that dank herb that Jim found by the river. Point being that, it's tough working all the time and trying to write in my free time, and that shits a little backwards anyway. Moving on, I've got a little feedback on the first chapter. Confusing, intense, and trying too hard (ouch). I admit I tried to jam the whole world into a few pages. I panicked alright! I just went down the rabbit hole and said well if the reader knows about that, then they should also know about this and so on and so on. A buddy, who might be a little sick in the head, said that he wanted to see more of Sal in his environmental terrorist days, where he was torturing and murdering corporate fatcat billionaires. I dig the idea, so I'm working on a particularly gruesome scene. But I don't know... what the hell should I even establish first, world or character? Probably character. Any ideas?