I wish I could force wise and talented people to read my rough draft and tell me if they liked it, and tell me what to cut, and tell me that everything will be okay.
If somehow this could be arranged I would promise to end my memoir with the line, "The pony, Jesus, and Chico Debarge walked together into the sunset, picking the last pieces of me from their steely fangs."
It would have nothing to do with the rest of the book, but still, I would write it that way in exchange for any pearl of wisdom or rock of reassurance.
In other news. After a lot of grief and searching of my house I finally gave up on ever finding my camera, the key to my big discovery as an insane outsider artist.
Maybe a mover took it when I wasn't looking. I had left it in a special drawer, but while Jen was packing, she pulled the drawer out and while I was carrying something heavy it caught my eye, and I remember thinking "If I don't hide that camera, it will be stolen." If only I had gone back an hid it. So there I was, sans cams.
Well I couldn't shell out another 400 bux for one, could I? No. So I started doing research on cameras and film, hoping to uncover some secret of how to take some nice close-ups without spending too much money.
more later....
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