#itsstillfuckingmessy

[wherewomenwrite-blog]

A few months ago I started taking pictures of my bedroom, which is where I get to ask my pile of laundry and bottle of stain remover for critiques of the pacing and plot of each story. They are often real assholes about grammar, but you see, it’s only because they believe in me.

Occasionally, I sacrifice everything else and stay up until midnight swearing and questioning my life choices in order to have a tidy bedroom to relax in. It’s totally worth it though because I get like twenty minutes of relaxing* until my laundry pile is back, I can take a nearly identical photo and we can talk about the overuse of the subjunctive again.

One day, when my work is published to great literary acclaim, readers will turn feverishly to the back of the dust jacket.  Just who is it that has subverted the novel form so powerfully?  Who could be writing this searing prose about crap TV and her boobs and stuff? There my pile of laundry will be pictured, leaning against my bookshelf, attempting to look both self deprecating and mysterious.

What a dick, I think. I’m not even going to do the laundry any more.

*lying on the floor thinking about ceremonially burning all our clothes in the garden

https://crappyliving.wordpress.com/2017/01/30/these-are-my-tits/