Hemingway’s Advice AKA Experiment Numero 1



I’ll be looking up advice from other writers to see how they handle writer’s block and other dilemmas. I chose this one first because, well…it’s freaking cold out and I had some Blue Moon in my fridge. Thanks for your time.


Ever heard of that Hemingway quote, “Write drunk; edit sober”?

Well, I wouldn’t say I’m drunk, but this is the close it’s ever going to get on the internet. Here I go…


The heater is on. I’ve been playing the same chords for the last hour, taking breaks every now and then to …. watch the news, Glee (don’t judge me), and my facebook newsfeed. I know, it’s a Saturday. And it’s not like I don’t a party to go to, or anything, I do. I really do, but I was invited by a third party and that’s always awkward because I might know like … three or four people there. I might only talk to two of them, but really enjoy one conversation…if that makes sense. Plus, it’s freaking cold tonight in the bay area. Like, frost on my windshield cold. I literally wore thermals today. That’s so sad. This is California, for crying out loud.

What else…?

So yesterday I got into a fb debate about abortion. Gah, it’s like I try to avoid it, but people just frustrate me so much. I won’t share what I debated, for fear that yesterdays horrible display of communication might replicate itself onto this blog. I wouldn’t want to do that. You know what’d be funny? If there was a blog solely dedicated to drunk writing. Maybe it exists…hmmm…something to research later.

I am home alone, and although this might sound boring, it’s absolutely heaven for me right now. Why? Because it’s freaking cold outside, and I am inside—as cozy as a teddy bear. Whatever that means. Use your imagination. Next to my laptop (yes, I am writing about the things on my desk) is a bowl with marinara stains because I just downed some pasta not too long ago. It wants me to walk it over to the sink to soak before the red sauce hardens, but instead I am choosing to let it be and sit on this desk. I think it’s something to do with my repressed rebellious spirit. Sorry bowl.

In the living room are two dogs bored to death. They are trying to sleep, I think, but I keep them up with my incesent internet ramblings and tapa-tapas on the keyboard. Is it keyboard? That sounds like a musical instrument. Whatever.

I can’t wait to go home for the holidays. I have so many plans with my family, but I know I’ll be doing like three out of my 20 ideas, and that’s okay. That’s okay. As long as I get to have some time with them.

My roommate sure has a lot of weird statues around the house. It took me a while to get used to the skeletons, but I just casually looked towards the lamp and realized that the Don Quixote figurines look pretty menacing. There’s a pudgy one, a tall one with a beard, and a medium sized one….holding cloth in his hands. They look like regular people and it creeps me out more than the skeletons.

Christmas postcards are all over the desk, and some are unopened. I wonder what they will say, but I am glad I don’t have to go through the trouble of opening them. I wonder if people expect a holiday card when they give one out. Wait, was is it about holiday cards anyways? A bunch of them have babies and families smiling kind of together…that’s weird. I wonder if I’ll ever get to that stage in my life, where I have to take a family portrait and mail it to people so to remind them who I am, and of course, that I’ve had children. Hmmm…Christmas cards are weird.

Okay, I better close this entry up before I start talking about real personal things. Goodnight Reader, this has been a pretty weird experiment. But look at all the potential writing material I have:

(Still buzzed btw, I’m such a light weight)

1. Staying at home during the holidays

2. Talking to dogs

3. Watching television as a hobby (making Barbara Walters your mother in your head)

4. The strangeness of XMAS/HOLIDAY cards

5. Roommates and their quirks

6. Frost….and a heater

7. Pasta, and having nightmares when you eat late at night

8. Dogs farting in the living room

9. What? ….fill in the blank.

I’m done.


To be continued…


Christmas Magic in a hermit like world

It’s burning in my bedroom right now and it smells amaze-BALLS! The bank shuts it’s door in 13 minutes, and I’m not going to make it. Glory, glory, glory—it’s another day being a hermit with my computer. I don’t feel bad though. It’s for a job. And when I become a hermit for a job, I don’t feel bad about it!

I have been editing this wonderful dance piece for an artist in New York, and I swear there was a point I almost cried. The dancers are so fluid, it’s like they become water in the middle of my screen. It’s like watching magic come to life. I think that’s why I like dance. You know, let me rephrase that. I know that’s why I like dance, and I know that’s why I like to make short films and stuff. Sometimes, it just feels like magic.

Like, I woke up this morning, smelling like yesterdays sorrows with a horrible ringing in my ear from the chanting of the people in my dreams: You’re a bad friend! Slut! You should never be alone with men!

And all that jazz. Apparently I was a slut in my dream, the funny thing is, I don’t think I did anything. It was like a witch hunt! Except I was kind of innocent, well not entirely, but I said, “I don’t remember a thing I was so freakin’ high!”    Honestly, I have to stop eating late at night and watching SNL before going to bed.   I don’t get high, and I am not a slut!

So yeah, I woke up pretty out of it today. My roommate came home around 1:00PM, and I was still in the attic typing away. She yells, “Dingo!!” And apparently her dog had pushed the sliding door open, gone into the bathroom, and made a nice little fort out of a pile of toilet paper and sheets. I was so out of it, I had not heard him do a single one of these acts. Good grief.

So I walk down, looking like an internet ad for Cal Gear (from head to toe), with disheveled hair, and the first thing I say is, “Wow, sorry…I literally have not come down once until now. Which reminds me, I have to brush my teeth.” That’s when we found out that he had gotten into the bathroom and torn out toilet paper, and eaten trash, and all the wonderful things dogs with bad habits do. Including chew up one of my roommates underwear. Gross.

Well, I am sure I filled you with enough details here, but the truth is I just needed to share that my cinnamon candle is pouring out some awesome Christmas Magic into my once stinky room. I feel like the holidays. The smell is so intoxicatingly beautiful, I went on Amazon to check out some weekly deals. I never shop online….wait….I never shop online.

Okay, now this candle magic is freaking me out.

See you, until next time I decide to vent!

Midnight Post 5

The winds are blowing hard on this small cottage here in Berkeley. Downstairs, the two dogs I live with are enjoying themselves by the fire. Their owners sleep on an inflatable mattress, and I am awake … editing and organizing my thoughts for the next few weeks. It’s November. It’s November…how did that happen?

I realized my body automatically shifted to the holiday spirit when I found myself reaching for the cinnamon burst candle at a store yesterday. I brought it up to my face and said to myself, “It smells like Christmas.”   It’s November! Thanksgiving hasn’t even happened yet and already I’m fantasizing about Christmas.

Lately, I’ve been writing my general thoughts in a journal or jotting down the small details I can remember about my dreams. It’s been a great way to keep track of my thoughts and my imagination, whether they are conscious or unconscious. There’s been a lot going through my mind. There are a lot of changes happening around me too. I am looking for a new place to live in January, and the transition to Berkeley has been…smooth, but at times, overwhelming. Work I thought I’d not find in this community has manifested. Work I actually enjoy and like. I shouldn’t brag, or pat myself on the back too much. It’s still a beginning.

Yet, here I sit. On the bedside wondering if I should read another Cesár Vallejo poem, or if I should just lie down and attempt to fall asleep.

Inspiration can drown out sleep sometimes. Even on nights like these…when I’m so very very tired.