YOU DON'T SUPPORT ME IN MY WRITING

By

Tyler Smith

Well it's true, you don't. How many times do I come home with a bottle of something blue, announcing that I am not to be bothered because it's "nose to the grindstone time," and the next thing I know, I'm sitting in some diner in Alphabet City with your sister who breaks down into tears over which pancake to eat because she doesn't want to hurt the other pancakes' feelings?

I think that you are under the illusion that art just "appears" like a rash, then floats up into the ether like Orpheus. Ok, you know what? It's that kind of nitpicking that really gets to me. Yes, I realize that Orpheus went "down," but I was thinking of "Kid Icarus." Yes, that 'stupid' game that I kicked your ass at on Thanksgiving—he floats up, like what I'm talking about. You know, for an ECON major, you sure seem to pretend to know a lot about literature. Why don't you just take your supply curves and I'll take my metaphors and we'll just stick to our perverbial guns. I said 'proverbial.' I don't write in Latin—why would I need to know the root?

Here's another thing: research is a large part of writing, and I don't think you quite grasp that when I'm not writing, I'm doing research—culling characters, committing dialogue to memory, using my mind like a sponge to absorb the world. Yes, I think Dog: The Bounty Hunter constitutes research. Did you know that Thomas Pynchon read every London Times from WWII before writing Gravity's Rainbow? It's the same thing. Excuse me? Well, no, my book is not specifically about bounty hunters, but there are certainly a number of different breeds of dogs peppered throughout the narrative. You're always confusing correlation with causation. Excuse me? No, is David Hume that annoying guy from Cornell who sits behind you at work? You can't just bring up some guy you know makes me jealous and start talking about how he 'revolutionized the field of philosophy' then tell me you want to drop it because 'I wouldn't understand.' That kind of stuff gets me so angry. Isn't he also a bull-rider or some damned thing?

Also, you've got to stop giving me all this grief about 'spending quality time together.' Writing is a solitary endeavor. I told you that before we started dating. No, I specifically told you that I was going to need a lot of 'me' time to focus and collect my thoughts. No, I don't think that you understand. Since I don't have a car, I need Brent to drive so he can take me to my 'me' time. No, we went to Scores after 'me' time. It's not a strip club. Well, I disagree. I think there is an enormous distinction between a strip club and a gentlemen's club. Do you think David Sedaris' girlfriend nags him like this? Oh, whatever— you're gay. Seriously, though? I don't see it. You just think that because he lives in France.

Here's the deal. Reading is a huge part of writing, and I resent the fact that you criticize me constantly for reading, when I 'should' be writing. That was one time and if you think that, then what about 'a picture is worth a thousand words?' Oh, so just because it was your brother's Juggs I borrowed, it means I'm just 'grabbing for straws?' It's a part of society we don't get to see. Are you so afraid of the depraved underbelly of society that you'd just as soon see all things unpleasant be burned? You know who else thought that way? The god-damned Nazis, that's who. Well, first of all, I borrowed it—stealing would be like if I sold it on Ebay or something. And secondly, I'm sure you'll be interested to know that the second half of your precious little Everything is Illuminated is basically lifted from a photo shoot in Swank I read back in high school. Of course I read it. No, the Swank.

Look, I really don't care if Jonathan Saffron Fart touched you on a metaphysical level or whatever. You have to admit I could beat him arm-wrestling. Oh, ok, now that's mature. Sure, you just sit there and pretend to read while I'm talking to you. You've got a bit to learn about irony, in case you didn't know. Just because it's Sophie's Choice doesn't make it not ironical. How do you mean?

Writing takes practice. Please stop berating me about my warm-ups. Like in anything, you've got to cultivate and exercise your muscles. I'll have you know that Hunter S. Thompson used to transcribe The Great Gatsby just to get into Fitzgerald's cadence, or meter, if you will. It's not an excuse for IMing Brent, it's a reason. A quick IM session gets my muscles moving, in a rhythm—ready to attack the keys and create my enchanted world of words. Ok, well what you like to refer to as 'shit-talking about fantasy football,' I call 'finger exercises.'

No, I give up. What do you have to say about my 'finger exercises?' Well that's really more of a gesture than you actually 'saying' something. Jeez, looks like somebody needs some 'me' time.