GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #266: BLEED

I have to be honest. I haven't been getting a lot of writing done. Most of it was due to my nervous breakdown last year, but a lot of it is also caused by the new book I'm writing.


I am a lot like Bentley Little when writing a book. My first draft is usually pretty close to the final draft. Not the same, but close.


This new book is something completely different. It's such a personal story that I can't be anything less than exact. I can't think, I'll fix it in an edit. But it's fucking me up severely. This is the kind of thing that if I get it published, it will probably have my entire family turn against me. I mean that in a Dean Koontz kind of way. Meaning, it involves familial insanity, which is something no one wants to talk about. I feel guilty just for trying to write this thing.


I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of an author cutting him/herself open and bleeding on the page. It's never been a style for me, because I'm a control freak, but this is the only thing I can think of to get this story out of me. It's full of things I don't want to admit about my family or even about me. But I have to get it out. I considered working on something else, but my mind doesn't want to let me. This thing is pressing on my brain, and it won't let up until I get it out of me.


I'm thinking of taking a Mark Twain tactic to this thing. Don't publish it until I've been dead a hundred years. But then again, by then no one will remember me. I have to do it now.


Bleed on the page. I'm trying, but I can't release myself from my ego to get this done.


FUCK.