Once I went to a writing event and had this conversation about the two types of writer with a student she said all organised writers are jealous of tortured writers and I said I am a tortured writer which I knew meant I was a bullshit person but hey we all monkeys and then I drank too much wine and there were a lot of old important people there and it got confusing.
I been writers blocked up like a post guinness bog lately and it was getting me down and loathsome so I wrote some heartfelt poetry to the universe pleading to get a god damn break for a change and by the end I had wrote something and I remembered how to write again so now I am writing a novel coming soooon.
Prayer of the Hot Mess
Dear Universe
Is it ok
If just for today
I am allowed to be a mess
Can I not clean my house
And let other people see
The clothes on the floor in every room
Don’t mean I’m depressed
Can I just smoke cigarettes
Weed, drink booze just please
I know I’m trying to quit
But I can’t write this stressed
Can no one ask me questions
I don’t remember these:
Where I’m going, what I’m doing
Can I just fail this test
Cos my muse is beaten up
Bloodied, broken, been abused
And I don’t know how I got here
This is not the place I choosed
I just want to write something
Like nobody showed me how
And I need another sentence
So can I be a mess just now
Skydekkerix 