7/7/04 4:32 PM: Despite what you read here, and the fact I'm broke, I'm really in a rather good mood. Really.

Every once in a while, young writers email me, finding me through god knows what mechanisms, and ask me for advice. Given a lot of my "successes" I find that hilarious. Today I kind of went on a rampage in a reply which is so evil and so delicious and so spot on for what I believe, I have to reprint the original note and my reply in their entirety. Bear with me ...

The original email goes ...

I partly wanted to hit you up and say hello, while also sending my congrats on a great job with the website.

To add on to the compliment I also wanted to ask: How the hell do you find time to do everything you do? :-) It's amazing is all I can say.

To move on to the meat of the matter, what advice might you be able to pass along a young writers way, who feels as if he's brimming with ideas which are constanly evaporating due to a huge sense of writers block.

I know that I want to make a career out of this gift that I have, but I'm finding I'm doing more of that "gonna do it tommorrow, gonna do it tommorrow, gonna do...." routine. It's really beginning to get on my nerves, because all I want to do is merely attempt to put all of my thoughts down on paper, be they crap, or gold (or something close to the element). In essence, I'd rather die trying than not having tried at all.

I'm finding that this has been my most successful year as far as writing officially (school newspaper staff writer, online magazine a&e editor, being published in the letters section of a local newspaper), but as far as the creative writing is concerned I've hit a wall of sorts. What I'm asking for from your end is some advice at what I could possibly do to surmount this obstacle, because I'm about ready to break out.

If you have the time to help a very frustrated guy out, it would be much appreciated. If not, thanks for at least reading the subject heading of my e-mail. :-) Hope all is well, and have a good one. Peace.

So I wrote back, feeling particularly "whimsically bitter" (thanks forever for that Bronwyn) ...

Hey -- thank you for the compliments, and thanks for writing in.

As for how I find the time: I sleep until 2 in the afternoon and work until 5 or 6 in the morning. It's easier to work when everybody else is asleep. Less distractions.

As for writing advice ... to quote the narrator in "Fight Club," "you met me at a very interesting time in my life." Here's my take on it, your mileage may vary.

First of all, there is no hope. If you see yourself on book tours and cashing huge royalty checks, forget about it. The life of a writer on average is one of bare subsistence, of constant hustling and of relentless shmoozing with people you don't like, and who probably don't like you. If you get that idea planted firmly in your head -- that your career as a writer will at best feed you and at worst get you killed -- then you're on your way to at least surviving.

Having no expectations means that everything good that happens to you is a pleasant surprise, and you can't really get disappointed by anything that happens to you. It's also a good philosophy to have if you're married.

Second -- write. Stop reading this email, stop doing the dishes, stop cleaning up your room. Write. Nothing else matters. It doesn't matter how it's formatted, how you'll sell it, who you'll sell it to, or what have you. It matters that you have not written, and until you do you're just blowing hot air. For example -- I had some crazy ideas I wanted to get out, no publisher and no collaborators, so I just started writing 'em and posting 'em on my website (http://www.operative.net/personal/creative/fiction/index.html). I dunno if any of it is any good, and I don't (in some terms) care, because it's up there, it's done, and I'm working on other ideas now that those are out of my head.

Third: Getting a website is key. Having it be pretty is irrelevant. Mine is pretty because I was a designer for a decade. Yours doesn't have to be. It does have to have writing on it. There's a trillion places on the web you can get free web space, and almost every ISP account has some attached to it. Use it. Getting a domain may help down the road, but to start just get something up there and get some writing on it.

Fourth: Never be without something to write with. I carry a Handspring Treo 90 on my hip with a godless amount of copious notes, virtually every idea that comes through my head. I write things down as thoroughly as I can while they're there, and keep them. Often I go over these notes as I'm stuck or looking for inspiration. Almost always works.

Fifth (and this one is so important to me): quit being such a goddamned wussy. Every time I get stuck, I walk into my bedroom and look at the mirror. Those six words are posted over it. "Quit being such a goddamned wussy." It's not like rocket science or brain surgery. It's taking an idea out of my head and putting it (in my case) in a text document. There was an old saying at DC Comics, "if you have to choose between making it good or making it on time, make it on time." Deadlines are more important than quality. In a business sense, almost everything is more important than quality -- marketing, deadlines, word counts, etc. Get the freaking work done and quit moaning about it.

Sixth, and this is once you've actually worked your ass off, you should be ready for the mountain of rejection you will get in order to get anywhere in your field. Get your clips together; write up a nice, professional looking cover letter (each one specific to whoever you're pitching); make copies; send them out relentlessly (making it a habit helps, one or two a week is about normal); and never expect to hear back. Consider it like tithing or a kind of penance. If something good happens, hurrah, but don't get all stuck on yourself about it. If you have a niche (mine used to be "urban entertainment journalism" now it's "speculative fiction" and "poetry"), constantly research outlets for your kind of writing. Go to conferences and events (even if it means travel) to meet the people who make assignments (rarely publishers, often editors). The selling of your writing is a completely different and often contradictory line of work than the writing itself. It's less important than you're good and more important that you're well connected and appreciated and professional.

Seventh: if you can handle all that and still write something that wouldn't make me wanna throw it away from myself in disgust, fantastic. Constantly work on your craft -- go to workshops (I have a great one in Leimert Park, here in LA) where people won't blow smoke up your butt. Stop showing your work to your loved ones -- they don't know their ass from a handbasket. Find people who are better than you, get them to like you and trick them into being your own personal editors under the guise of friendship (I know this trick too well for it to work on me, alas).

Then, maybe one day eleven years into your writing career, you can be a bitter divorced guy in a one bedroom apartment, deep in gang territory with no assets of note. Just like me. >8^)

Best of luck, you're gonna need it.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting on my couch, cracking up laughing. I forgot that there were no comic books today, and severe economic shortfalls have me staying in tonight (I budgeted for the books, especially since I got my first small-but-helpful check from UGO.com yesterday). If I just looked on paper, I'm a wreck. However, if I look at it from the perspective of a guy who woke up at 2PM and has one thing he needs to do between now and tomorrow afternoon, who has food in the fridge and love in his life, who has a new (to hm) car that he liked despite the lingering smell of dog, feels really good to drive. A guy with a fresh set of karaoke CDs and a nigh-infinite supply of ideas and a third-generation iPod.

It's a horrible, brutal, ugly, meaningless and ultimately doomed world, but that's no reason not to get some chuckles along the way.

So this reminded me (as I segue seamlessly) about my mom. My mother lives in our familial homeland of Milwaukee, WI with my younger brother Chazz (I may stop saying "little" as he already weighed more than me last time I saw him, and I dunno how tall he is now). The two of them were to come visit me in August, but bad financial planning (possibly a family tradition, ha ha ha) made that impossible. She decided she wanted to send for me. To go to Wisconsin.

There are hundreds of reasons why I am against Wisconsin. First of all, it would have to be a weekend, which means I'd have to be away from dark skinned affection, and that just ain't right. Second, it would be in Wisconsin. Third, all of the relatives that I really hate live in Wisconsin, and being closer to them would geometrically increase my chances of interacting with them. Fourth of all, it's in Wisconsin, land of the "Cheeseheads" and dairy and beer and wholesome whiteness in levels that Orange County can only aspire to. Fifth of all, it's away from everything I like about LA -- my car, my apartment, my karaoke spots, my friends and business associates, my bed, Roscoe's, Chef Marilyn's, Golden Bird, and being able to sleep into the afternoon without being bothered.

Did I mention it's Wisconsin? That's an important note to make.

So I'm probably not gonna go. My coaching staff suggested she just send the boy and get over it, as we're not super close anyway, but I dunno what's gonna happen.

One Saturday, I called her from the newspaper office (where long distance is free, heh) and she started asking me if there were any men in LA she could at least have a conversation with. I ended up echoing sentiments that ended up in the email exchange above -- there is nobody worth it, there is no hope, get over yourself, suck it up, blah blah blah. "That's kinda cold, son," she said sadly.

"Cold comforts are all we have in stock," I replied with a grin.

So I have learned some expensive lessons this year, and learned not to get all caught up in something that could end up destroying me, and learned to love and cherish and appreciate for right now, without worrying about a tomorrow that may never come. Which is part of why I'm so damned chipper most of the time! *Hannibal grins evilly*

In other "what the hell?" news, Colin Powell apparently sang "YMCA" in front of a body of diplomats. Seriously, I'm not making this up, I have links and photos and everything. No matter how many crazy ideas I get, the world is insistent on out-weirding me. Of particular note, and I couldn't find any footage or photos of it, is Madeline Albright dressed up as Eva Peron, singing her little heart out. This is the stuff I wanna see on the news. Ah well.

So tonight I have to label and print information for 45 or so new karaoke discs (I'm almost back), I'm whittling down the bad stuff that came in on the 3G iPod, and I'm pretty good all around. Crap, but I forgot to go get my laundry ...

Off to lounge and handle some stuff around here, lah dee dah ...