An excerpt from my essay, “That’s It, I Quit, or This Essay Could Save My Life,” up now at The Good Men Project.
There are some days when I’d just as soon give up.
Over drinks with a writing friend recently, I confessed that I believed I could be happy not writing ever again. And I say confession because as all writers understand: to suggest that you don’t breathe and eat and sleep writing, that you don’t need to write, is profane. It’s like a priest saying he could be happy without God, like a mountain goat saying it could be happy without the mountain. Saying shit like that gets you kicked out of the writer’s club. You just can’t say it and ever be considered legitimate again. As I confessed my sometimes desire to quit, my friend shook his head. Nope, nope, nope. He didn’t believe it—mountain goat, no mountain.
“You won’t be able to do it,” he said, shaking his head further as he threw back a shot of tequila and chased it with a PBR, a consequence of his own struggle with writing, I suspect.
Read the rest at: The Good Men Project
christopher bundy 