Gun-totin', Chronic-smokin' Hearse Initiator (ludickid) wrote,
Gun-totin', Chronic-smokin' Hearse Initiator

And now, today's professional bitching

Hey, didn't I used to be a freelance writer? What happened to all my freelance work this month? I've had one record review and a short music feature so far, and other than that, Jack F. Diddley, Esq. Hey, maybe Major Chicago Newspaper will finally cough up the six hundred bucks they owe me and it'll be almost like I'm working.

I can't complain too much about the sudden lack of freelance work, since it frees me up to pursue my two favorite hobbies (writing humor & fiction, and drowning out my despair with drugs and alcohol), but seriously, my editors: do I smell? Okay, so I smell. Does my writing smell? Okay, so my writing smells. Buy it anyway. Last month you bastards ran me ragged, now: nothing. Fui.

Speaking of my smelly writing, I am in the process of finally doing something performance-related with my crypto-humorous writing; I still need to talk to rum_holiday and a couple of other people about the praxis, but the theory is ducks-in-a-row. Hooray, another quixotic and unprofitable artistic pursuit! I'll be the belle of the ball!

Meanwhile, my crappy novel collects dust on the hard-drive. Will I ever finish it? I dunno. But every day I don't work on it is a day that I begin to suspect it sucks like an Electrolux. Is that fear talking? Self-hatred? Laziness? I can't tell. And more time passes when the world is denied an overwritten, pointless novel about Superman punching God.

Still to come this very year of 2005: new Ludic Log entries (no, really); probably some live readings; a spankin' new issue of the High Hat for which I will take the editorial blame; the vague outlines of a comedic dynamo; and more updates on my attempt to sell a collection of short humor pieces and the subsequent claims by editors, publishers, agents and writers that "humor doesn't sell". Because really, who likes to laugh? Nobody.
Tags: crankery, diary, lit

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