You know that Buck Cherry song, right? The one that makes you cringe because their first hit was so smokin’-eighties-hair-band-hot that you figured they were good for more of the same? Well, they weren’t, apparently. And yet, I think of this sophomoric offering as I consider editing today. Too drunk to what???? Edit. No, never what they say in the song. I’m a chick, after all. The alcohol only makes it (me) easier, baby. Not getting off, necessarily, but drink enough and I just don’t care if it ‘happens.’ I’ll take care of that tomorrow in my free time.
The thing is that I like a little cocktail (juvenile snicker) while I’m writing. But it is such a fine line between writing and drinking, and editing and drinking that I frequently get off-balance. I can write just smurfy while drinking. I hate sitting down with a fresh one and realizing that my job today is to edit. I fuckin’ hate editing anyway. I need a computer program that takes all of my intoxicated butchering of the English language and crams it into a borderline insane yet genius-clairvoyant perfect package. I would pay quadruple the Scrivener price for that. Make me pretty on paper, Scrivener! Fix my typos while I type. Now that would be an invention.
Without the work.
While you’re at it, I want to push a format button on each submission site that will automatically make my piece exactly the way the editors want it, minus the 1-2 hours of my time. Just plug-in your name, story title, yada yada yada and the rest is done for you. Because (don’t tell anyone), I am not all that computer savvy and nearly everyone wants it at least a little bit different.
Shocking. I know. You all thought I was a tech nerd.
It takes me at least two tries to turn on my cell phone and realize it isn’t charged.
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