My seagull is broken. It's been broken since three days before Christmas and when I say broken I mean dead and when I say seagull I mean soul. You have to read that explanation with literary whimsy and a poetic license. Without enough literary whimsy it literally translates to my soul is dead, which pretty much means that I am dead and my corpse is doing all the typing here. (This would be unfortunate because by the time this phenomenal post broke 100 hive rewards my body would be too badly decomposed to cash in.) As for the poetic license, you can obtain one after a 20-hour education program and passing the poeticians bar exam.
What's that? Sure, go ahead. I'll be around. Just sitting here. Rotting...
You're back! Judging by that shiny new poetic license you have in one hand and the joke we just beat to death in the other I'm guessing you're ready to understand what the fuck it is I'm going on about with the whole broken seagull thing. Well I hate to break your heart, but I have no fucking clue. What's worse, I think I could have come up with a better response than some pathetic I have no fucking clue (read in a snotty voice that indicates I'm making fun of myself) but in this stream of consciousness I am little more than a hack and a suckerfish that steals tones and ideas from other sources and remodels them to make it look like some little half-grey girl genius sitting on her catpiss couch in Portland has reinvented humor writing.
It's ok if you're not following this. I've been lost since you left to get your poetic license. Feeling a little better since you got back, though. But the seagull's still broken.
Well, I'll be damned, that little bit of education and certification actually worked! You do understand me. You get it. It makes sense to you why after spending a good 15 hours of hammering out a chapter of my book under the performance-enhancing influence of one-sixteenth of a tab of acid that I should sit back and reread all that I've written and wonder who the fuck I think I am trying to say what everyone else has already said in the same tone that they have already said it. And why that would lead me to the conclusion that my seagull is broken.
My goddamn seagull, which really isn't a euphemism for anything other than the captioning of the image up top, which itself isn't actually a euphemism at all but a [catchy] title, and jesus christ you wouldn't believe how many typos are flying outta me right now and how off topic I keep getting from the topic of how fucking frustrated I am that the seagull is broken I am working on this fucking book about how I got out of The Suicide Pit and into I-Love-Life Club and writing the damn thing like my parents and a fleet of kindergarteners are gonna read it before I flip it into a script for a Disney movie. In other words, where the fuck is my damn SELF in all this idealized bullshit fluffy writing and why am I not being authentic to the woman who saved her own life? Why am I trying to make my writing sound simple and sane when it was the simplicity and forced sanity that nearly killed me a thousand times over?
Insanity. Smear the thoughts together with rambling poetry and all the metaphors and similes and smiles and mad cackles it takes to make the work of art that tells the story of me. ME! The Adventuring Crow Lady! None of this tired once-upon-a-time Point A to Point B organized sensibility that someone who has seen the inside of my apartment (when I'm not expecting company, I do know how to clean) would point at and say Ha! Bullshit! Farce! Fraud! and a stream of other redundant generalizations of how not me the writing is. Take that smeared beautiful and creative chaos and wave it under some publisher's nose (or eyes, that sounds more effective) and say looky here! I wrote this and maybe you think it's madness but it's MY madness and it's MY life and it's like nothing you ever read before...
Yes, I realize that doesn't make it any good... No, I did not almost get eaten by a polar bear in the Arctic... Huh? No, I'm not interested in adding that to the story to make it a better sell... Yes, I understand what it takes to make it out there in the creative world. Actually, that's a lie. If I understood I'd be making it, now wouldn't I? I'd be successful. A. Successful. Writer. Not Portland catpiss couch girl in her pajamas groveling to some imagined rep at a publishing company in a blog she wrote complaining about how hard it is to be authentic and raw even when nobody is watching.
That seagull is drinking water, by the way. He's not broken. He's just a kid. Kids do weird shit.
All pictures and words copyright Anna Horvitz (me) and cannot be used without my consent.
Thanks @thekittygirl and @innerblocks!!
Success at the game, any game, requires selling out and it's all about what sells, whatever the current flavour is. It's far better to write in a manner that is true to yourself, your way of being. You can always self-publish a book with a broken seagull.
I'll start my own publishing company: Broken Seagull Press.
I don't think all success requires selling out, only if it's mainstream content. There is hope for that which is truly unique and novel and groundbreaking, but it can take a while to take off and usually doensn't get the recognition it deserves until after the person who made it is dead. But I could always go back to being suicidal again if I want to be famous... (joke) (bad joke)
It depends on what you define as success. It depends on what your goals are. It depends on what you perceive as truly unique, novel, groundbreaking. Mainstream doesn't have much to do with it, unless you're speaking of those in the limelight, heard enough of them mention having sold their soul for it, met some of those that have when I was in that type of environment.
It's a spectrum of selling out, piece by piece depending on what external goal you've set. It's how this world operates. I have never seen it operate differently in any area throughout my entire life. The degree of success one has directly correlates to the degree one is willing to sacrifice one's true self.
It can take a while to take off. This is because one must always pay one's "dues" first, so to speak. There's a reason recognition doesn't occur until after the person who "made it" is dead. Think about that.
Shit, man, I've paid an awful lot of dues in my life....
Success in this case is getting paid to do it so I can go do more things and write about them and get paid. Or get paid (even part time) for putting the crazy world inside my head on paper. The whole one-job thing kills me. I can't. I need more.
Catchy title my foot (although it is) ... Thats a euphemism!!
OOOOOoooo you're right it is maybe it will take off and get popular like "do you like pineapples." I still don't know wtf that means. I've been given multiple explanations.
The idea of applying for a "poetic license" reminded me of this old comedy sketch.
It seems like this world is a lot more fucked up and difficult than we were brought up to expect, and coping mechanisms aren't part of the standard curriculum either.
Heh! That was a fun listen.
I was raised by boomers that were still a little stuck in the 1950s mindset that their parents raised them in so I got all kinds of expired how-tos and ways of thinking that simply do not apply to todays dating all the way back to the 80s, in which the world was, and continues to be, as you say, "a lot more fucked up."
Get it out guuuurl, get it out! You're way more authentic to yourself than you may think btw. Just follow the process. And believe me...I know the seagulls ;). Also, humor is what most are lacking...so fuck it...get it out guuuurllllll 🤗
I completely agree...
Thaaaaaanks! Funny does help, huh.
-Done.
And you kiddo will rock that book within or without your seagull, and I know its not dead, scared to death - perhaps, dead- nah, to young for that shit.
Scared to death. Yes. Exactly. Still resuscitatable, though.
I'm not medically qualified to help, but I have nice soft hands - slap, slap reanimation.
Oh yes, I remember watching you slap that dough around.
Don't be my gluten bun :D
Are you coming on to me???? 😂😂😂😂
Depends on your seagull :P
You really should add what makes the story yours! If you're worried about the publishing bit, talk to @jayna , she has a group to help people get there...
This post has been manually curated by the VYB curation project
Thanks @wrestlingdesires! I'll check her out.
My pleasure :) And if your crow friends tell you any fictional stories, be sure to drop them in The Inkwell 🙌
!LUV
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