|
How I Write This Crap Like Wordsworth or that cokehead Coleridge, I have my writing rituals. Everyone does, I suppose. Mine begin in solitude, in a very quiet room. Then, as if pouring an amber liquid into a tumbler (in fact, I actually do pour an amber liquid into a tumbler -- in this case Jack Daniels), I fill the quiet room with loud music, very LOUD music. By which I mean any music (mostly '60s R&B and so-called Neo Soul) played loudly. I figure what's the point of having the number 10 on the volume control if you're not going to set the dial there? Having filled the quiet room with loud music, I take the tumbler filled with amber liquid and go sit out in the patio, where I smoke a cigarette and wait for inspiration to strike. Usually, I'm clothed, but sometimes, like on hot sticky nights, I might be in my underwear. Also, usually these rituals take place at night, but sometimes it's broad daylight. Inspiration can strike just about any time. If, after a pack of cigarettes, inspiration still hasn't struck, I stagger into the house and change the music. This is when I bring out the big guns -- Earth, Wind and Fire or Kool & The Gang. In other words, Get Down On It Music. Dancing around in your underwear to such tunes can sometimes jog inspiration, can inspire inspiration, you might say. You may be wondering where my wife is when all this is taking place. Usually, she is not at home. On the rare occasion when she is, she'll go, "What're you doing?" in a way that sounds more like an accusation than a question. "What's it look like? I'm writing haiku." "Looks more like you're getting drunk. In your underwear. At 10 o'clock in the morning." "Hey, everyone has his methods. All the greats do. This just happens to be mine." "Uh huh," she'll say, throwing me an expression of love, which these days consists of rolling her eyes. Suddenly, the word "stupid" invades my consciousness. Did my wife speak it beneath the sonic tableau of loud music as she was leaving, or was it there lurking somewhere in my memory? Such an interesting word, "stupid." What is that, two, three syllables? I happen to like ess words -- surly, cynical, sarcastic. I jot "stupid" down for future use at some point.
|