Wanna Talk About It? No, Let’s Write.

Let’s get something straight, I’m a writer.     Though, I’m considered different because I live a semi normal life.     Take Thompson for example: a lonely, desperate man who wanted attention and the love of a true caring father.     He took that desperation and rung out the water on his hair to fuel his burning passion for writing.     Or we’ve got King whose father left at an early age, or Hemingway with war trauma, or Fitzgerald with alcoholism and triumphant depression.     Those guys have cracked the code for writing, publishing, and writing more.     They lived in a world where men weren’t supposed to extract their feelings and elaborate to someone else; they were supposed to ball it up into a red capsule and gulp it down dry for it to be shit out twelve hours later.     Those guys knew how to write, because they had that semipermeable sense of mind that could drive me hysterically mad; they knew that their chil...