Thursday, March 21, 2013


That's my writing style.  I realized that just today.  Reading through my stupid crap.  All my crap.  It's too much.  The way I tell stories.  Too much.  Too many.  Words everywhere.  Big ones, little ones, weird ones, dumb ones.  All jumbled into this crap soup that even I have to be a fucking rocket scientist to translate, and I wrote the shit!  
That's right.  I said GAH.  
I'm reading along and all I hear in my head in blah, blah, FUCKING BLAH.  

And I think to myself, "Seriously, Aimee?  For real?  What the fuck?  Have you always done this?" 

And then I pull out my kid-Aimee folder.  That old one.  Where everything is written on college-ruled notebook paper, in pencil, with these weird 3D triangle doodles in the margins.  Some of it has been crumped into paper wads and un-crumpled so many times that the paper feels like tissue.  And I read it.  


Blah, blah, blah. 

I was absolutely OBSESSED with drawing pyramid doodles when I was a kid.  I don't know why.  I don't even know how to explain it.  I guess it sort of looks like an architect's blue print thingy.  Triangles in 3D.  Pyramids.  Whatever.  Or, if not the pyramids, then pages and pages where I would draw a triangle, then an upside-down triangle attached to it, then a right-side-up triangle, then an upside-down triangle.... pages and pages and pages of it.... WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?!?!


Writings.  Writerlies.  Writerings.  Wordlings.  Wordies.  Wordvomit.  PUKELETTERS.  VERBORRHEA.  That would be verb+gonorrhea, not verb+diarrhea.... just in case you wondered.  

I need to simplify my storytelling.  I need to just fucking hemingway myself instead of this Aimeegurgitation bullshit. 

I'm coining that word, by the way.  Aimeegurgitation.  I don't know how to coin a word, though.  So I'll just pretend its coined. 

I don't know ANYONE.  Any famous writer person.  To whom, on the back of any book I ever get published, I can compare myself.  You know, when it reads "In the style of -------" 

Yeah, nobody.  I read all this crap I write, and think.... JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY AND TELL THE GODDAMNED STORY YOU FUCKING WHORE!!!

But I can't.  Shut up.  Because that is how I tell the story.  Or how I don't tell the story.  Because I don't like telling them.  I like.... kind of.... this thing I do in my head... where I don't tell.... but... I try to.... do this other thing with the words.... you know?  Fit them where they are lyrical.  I LOVE alliteration.  It's so.... damn.... like.... spittle..... wordspittle on your chin, you know?  Bouncy words and fragments, euphemisms, bathos, synecdoche, paradoxes are my other favorite, oh the yummy disgust you can bring forth with little annoying flies in the faces you punch with your story.....
BUT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE for normal people to fucking dissect and translate and OH MY GOD Jamesfuckingjoyce makes me want to poke out my own god-damnable eyeballs.....

I think.  Yes.  Absolutely.  I want to piss people off so fucking bad that they throw my book across a room and say FUCK THIS SHIT.  But then, they stare at the upside-down book in the corner where they tossed it.... for days.... and finally.... they pick it back up again.... and say to themselves, "I'm NOT letting this bitch win!  I will finish this goddamn book if it's the last fucking thing I ever do!!!" 

So anyway.  

I'm hungry. 

The End. 


  1. But I love the way you do the things with the words and tell your stories... or don't tell them. Either way, I'm good.

    My notebooks are filled with Autobot & Decepticon symbols and Fido Dido from 7Up. I actually got pretty good at them.

  2. Thanks for the boost ;-) It helps. Truly.