Sometimes I feel as if I am just talking to myself. If so, at least I am not responding.
This little blogsite started off strong. Now it is about as dull as a butter knife, the side that doesn't cut. But here we find ourselves, once again, so might as well make the most of the situation and go with it.
The second novel is coming along pretty well. I think after months of writers block I am really on my level now and finding a nice creative flow. A novel is like an ancient artifact, buried beneath years of sediment and debris. The writer, the archaeologist, must first find the dig site, and once found must carefully extract the remaining body below, uncovering more and more the further one digs.
I am about ass deep in the dig site right now, and the artifact reveals more and more of itself by the day. It isn't like I put the damn thing there, it was always there to begin with, and it is my job to uncover the son of a bitch.
Why do I use swear words? I guess it never really was a problem until I joined the Navy. Then I learned a whole new set of expletives and as such cannot describe my reality without them any longer. I think it adds a little flavor and spice. It might not take much imagination to use these words that "mustn't be uttered," but it does illicit a certain emotional response that I like.
I never made a dime slangin' birds. But I hope to make some money slinging these words. Here is how you can help me out!
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