How come I can't write worth shit? Some sally cum lightly, or fanny come homely, or whatever the phrase is can write about sparkly vampires and make millions, but I sit and support my local music scene, thumbing away at my phone, express how the music makes me feel, and I get accolades at a shitty bar? A free drink? Maybe a bandie lay or seven? Hells yea I do!! It takes a lot to drink till you are stupid and forget the coke fueled after party. The good thing about local music is the shitty generic drugs and hanging out with the same bass player every weekend.
Seriously, though, I've always been a scheming literary twat. When I was ten, I read through my dad's Tolkien books, at the unbequest of my mother, who was religious and thought those books were of the devil. Evil, imaginary magical theories that discredited God and his miracles.
When I was 12 I read the first Jurassic Park novel in thirteen hours straight. Do you realize how many pages that was to a sixth grader? That book was thicker than my dad's glasses. Which, in the early nineties, was pretty thick for a middle class family with five kids and one working parent. When the movie came out, my brother and I, who had never read the book and just liked dinosaurs, went to see it in the dollar theater. Every Saturday, for the whole fucking summer. I hated the movie. But I went, to nitpick every single discrepancy. It was 25% the book, and I hated it. I did mention I was a literary twat from a young age, didn't I?
I swore to myself I would never EVER write a good book and let it get chopped up for the "layman". So, I wrote a book. Well, let's back up a bit. I wrote a book when I was like eight or seven or some shit. Something about a girl and the case of the missing pets. Pause... Its around here somewhere... Ahhh. In a Tupperware in my closet, 24 years later. Its called The Missing Dogs. If that's not an attention grabber, I don't know what is. I am an animal lover too, but that will be for a different blog. This book was about a girl whose dog, and other neighborhood dogs, go missing after visiting the creeper vet. I illustrated the thing, and not knowing what a pedophile was, I actually drew him to look like one. Glasses, balding, and that evil, creeper stare and grin. Shshshshuddddder just thinking about it.
Now, every book to movie transition needs at LEAST 75% of the original book in the movie to be believable as the book, in my opinion. Again, literary twat. After watching the Jurassic park movie, and having been utterly disgusted with the butchering of the imagining I had in my head after having read the book, I took out my masterpiece and started writing a script. Generic and neandarthalic as it was, I was impressed. Well this isn't so fuckin hard, I had everything in it that I wrote for the book.
Then came working with the talent. We had a newfoundland dog named Uno. She was an older girl, adopted from a local rescue. She was sweet, a cuddler, and completely daft at the art of acting. She never stayed on cue, ran after cats, and was such a diva she wouldn't do anything I asked until she got her ball.
So, I gave up directing for a while. To focus on my fucking twatty attitude. I, for the most part, was a recluse. I had friends, but would rather hang out in the corner of the playground reading. Like a twinky twat. I read throughout elementary school, of which I attended the same school from preschool to the middle of sixth grade, and then uprooted at mother's fancy. I attended two more sixth grade classes, and three middle schools, landing in Arizona. All that changing and having to make new friends shit made me more of a shut in. More books, more reading, and an end of school award from the school's librarian for being "The Best Lunchtime Library Assistant." Yup. That was me. Luckily, beating people up wasn't in the code of bullies where I was.
Fearing for my social sanity, mother enrolled me in a Mormon charter school from ninth grade to graduation. Through out those years, I mastered my craft at writing, and actually had a shit ton of fun doing it. Therapeutic and energizing for my vocabulary. I made up most words when I couldn't think of one that fit, such as fantabulous or fuckcruncher. I also bought books on script writing and now have a whole bunch of shit sitting in my closet, a fraction of what I had written over the years. And drugs. I discovered lots of drugs.
My insecurity and unselfworth, being mentally abused by mummy dearest, having inherited her genes of depression and bipolarism and other mental isms, have prevented any from seeing the light of day. Until now. I no longer care what others think about what happens in my head; the love of Badgerino, my soul mate and the other half of my sanity, has given me the supreme twatness to share this with you all. Past head writings and whatever I feel like sharing in the future. That, as well as for entertaining purposes, boredom, depression and simply for those nosey nancys out there that have nothing better to do. Just giving you something to stalk other than the girlfriend of your crush. Reviewing bands, venues and music were just the beginning; Isis (the goddess, not the terrorists) save us all.
Enjoy!!
No comments:
Post a Comment