"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."
Boy, do I wish I could take this quote literally. Because, sometimes when I'm struggling with an unruly chapter, like right now, I just wish I could make a gin martini and curl up with a good movie. Obviously, I could if I let the devil on my right shoulder call all the shots. I can do what ever the heck I want. My two cats might think they're the boss. But I wear the pants in this family. Just not black pants. You know, because I'd need a lint roller.
But, is it a good idea to start drinking at 1:26 pm? No, only if you are the devilishly handsome Don Draper on Mad Men. I can only imagine what it would be like to be that hunk for a boozy twenty four hours. The world would be my oyster. Actually, there was a pretty disgusting scene on Mad Men where Don and Rodger eat way too many oysters and tip a few too many martini's over one of their famously long lunches. The first thing Rodger does when he sets a polished leather foot across the threshold of his office...is puke his guts out. Scratch being Don. Carrying a pickled liver every where I go is not my cup of tea.
I used to drink during the day. It was when I was a flight attendant. But it's not what you're thinking. I didn't drink on the job. Although, I may or may not have pilfered a few first class mini's back in the day. No, I drank when I got home, exhausted from puddle jumping all over the Midwest. I'd make a Cosmo and watch Sex and the City. My husband still teases me about coming home to a wife half in the roller bag.
Obviously, I know what the quote is really talking about. Because I feel the same way. I don't want anyone breaking my creative bubble until I've finished writing my first draft. But then again, is there ever really a good time for someone to tell you your writing stinks? Or, that getting anything published for real is about as likely as me waking up in bed with John Hamm? That's the thing about writing. I can do what ever the heck I want.
Chapter 23: (revision) The Flight to L.A.
"Ah, miss? Stewardess? Yes, you. Hello." The distracted flight attendant sets down her coffee pot and sashays up the aisle like a curious kitten, adjusting her necklace and leaning low towards the man in the suit. "What can I do for you Mr. Draper?" she asks, unconsciously picking a piece of lint off his tie. He hands her his glass and asks for another round on the rocks. "What's your name?" he asks. "You look like a Barbie or maybe a Shawna." "It's Sharon, Mr. Draper. Sharon..."
I've reviewed A Feast For Crows, just in time for the new season of Game of Thrones on HBO. I'm chomping at the dragon bit for the next season and the next book! Over at Springtime in Magnolia