I keep reading books by guys like Kerouac, Cassidy, Ginsberg,and Bukowski. I see these guys sitting in an era where if you were a creative mind then you were on outsider. Moles tunneling through the underground of imagery and thought. I see their worlds as mirror images of our world today. We've come full circle I think.
Today- if you don't have a "job" and all you do is sit in a one bedroom apartment, feeding your cat, watching the birds, and waiting on the words to come "from your soul like a rocket" (to quote Bukowski's So you want to be a writer?) then you're a nothing, not even a "has been"- you're a "never was". That's a tough world to be in.
Now here I am, posting my first blog (well actually it's my third- I deleted the other two), reviewing websites for places to submit my stories, reading lists of literary agents hoping to find that one person that will read my stuff and say; "damn this guys got IT".
I don't know what I'll post on this here site, if anyone knows me they'll tell you I have a propensity for ranting sometimes (hence the deletion of the other two posts). More than likely I'll be creative so feel free to follow my tunnel through the imagery of my own thoughts. Your comments are welcome (although since no one is really going to read this I don't imagine I'll have many of those)so come on anonymous internet, let's do a little dance and see where we go!
I've got to go feed the cat now, more later....