Erica Jong recently commented on the phenomenon of not paying writers for content, which she seems to think is getting worse. "Authors are blogging everywhere for free,” she said, “and it’s not a good development. They are starving.”
Although I had kind of become numb to what I was writing about, I was still aware that other people would be at least a little shocked. Abortion. Gangbang. Orgy. These are words that get people’s attention.
There seems to be something about the way brains are organized that puts the handy mental thesaurus on the same shelf as the box of self-doubt you reach for when you have to top the bowl of "why did I think writing for a living was a good idea?" that you're having for dinner.
At the beginning of the week, my father and I were making plans to see my godfather in May. By Thursday night, we were scrabbling for a way to get up to Springfield, Oregon in time, and on Friday morning, he was dead.
My use of footnotes appears to have sparked quite a rebellion amongst the commentariat, which seems to be evenly split on whether they are excellent or an offense against nature. As a natural response, I got a tattoo.