Not What I Was Looking For…


…But I’ll take it.

I was shooting for Robbins, or Pynchon, or Thompson, or Brautigan or any one of dozens of maniacal authors who have ever lived. I strive to join the Brotherhood of Warrior Poets whenever I sit down at my keyboard.

Instead, I got Agatha Christie.

I write like
Agatha Christie
I Write Like. Analyze your writing!

Granted, I’d like to think that there’s a madness to my method, and Agatha knows a thing or two about madness… albeit, better dressed.

Okay, okay…I put my latest work through the analyzer, now let’s see what they say to something I have bubbling on my back burner…

I write like
Rudyard Kipling
I Write Like. Analyze your writing!

Ugh…really? Is it because I use talking animals? Is that what you’re building that opinion on? Not Richard Adams? Art Spiegelman? Okay, maybe not Spiegelman. But, Kipling?

Look, I know I’m sounding insubordinate and ungrateful, but I want to write like somebody cool! I do not want to write like someone I used to fall asleep to in high school!

Still though, perhaps all those times that I struggled through “Ivanhoe” and still couldn’t remember what it was about, maybe all those times where I had to choke on a classic against my will, maybe it did have an effect on me. Maybe the seeds were planted a long time ago and are just now bearing fruit?

Maybe I’m destined to do this. Maybe I’m meant to live next door to the masters with their immaculately trimmed lawns, in-ground pools, and security gates. Maybe my romantic notion of carousing amongst the rabble on the other side of the tracks is just a lie… 

…Meh, whatever. I’m pulling a Sir Distractsalot at the moment and I should be getting other stuff done. But in the meantime, I’ll try to be like you…

Thank you +Michelle Stanley for bringing this to my attention…


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