The Rules of Writing (Or: Fuck You, Elmore)

Hey, I’ve read books from Elmore Leonard, and enjoyed them. Good writing. That said, I shit on his supposed rules of writing. There are no rules of writing. If there were a rule, it would be as follows: if you can’t write, follow Elmore’s rules, but, if you trust yourself to write, follow your own rules. Don’t trust Elmore, or anyone else.
And if you tell me never to write in the passive voice, I’ll kill you.
Fuck you, Elmore. I’ll just bet you would have liked that statement.
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Violence

Once upon a time, a woman I loved asked me a hypothetical question. She was sick of my procrastinating way of dealing with things. She was tired of my way of waiting up, seeing what is going down, and most likely not doing anything to really influence the situation, lazy bastard that I am. She said, if you were coming to meet me, and you saw that a man was molesting me, what would you do? I said, I would wait and see… see if you can deal with it alone. So then she asked the next pertinent question: what would you do if he laid a hand on me, got rough?
I wondered if I should really tell her that those are the moments I am glad I don’t carry weapons. I can only hope that there are none to hand, if it should ever come to that. I am, generally speaking, a peaceable person. I don’t want to hurt anybody, I really don’t. But I know myself. I know what puts me in a rage, and I know that the control I have then breaks.
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I told her I would then immediately intervene. That is, as far as it goes, the truth. I didn’t say that I would probably pick up the nearest blunt object and whack it across the back of his head, and then pounce on him and smash my fists in to his face until my knuckles broke. I didn’t tell her that, should a gun be at hand, I might very well simply shoot his fucking brains out, on the spot.
Now you’re probably thinking: what a bullshitter, bragging about what he would do, if. But you don’t get it. I think violence is wrong. I’ve been on both ends of violence, and either way, it basically sucks. I know what others are capable of… been beaten so bad I landed in the hospital. I know what I am capable of, and I like that even less than landing in the hospital. I know I’ve enjoyed being violent, and that’s worse still. The last thing I would brag about is my capability for violence.
Have you ever, like me, woken up one fine morning and wondered where the blood on your knuckles came from? Horrible thought, isn’t it… but worse than the thought is the fact. Memory dawns on you… and you realize that violence is horrible. It’s bad. Though it may even seem necessary at times, it’s still wrong. It’s the last stupid exit you take when you know no other way out, or when you are so drunk that you are reduced to base instincts. Or when the situation is so intolerable that… I don’t want to think about it any more.
It’s those moments, when I am not fucking around anymore, that frighten me for myself. For all of us. I realize then what humans are capable of.
I shouldn’t have written this post. It reminds me of the beast in me, the anger I fight to keep down day for day. The beast that wants to fight and kill. Better to be lazy, and to let things go their way. Just please don’t put me in that position where I see no other way out. Please, brother, don’t force me to it. Cuz’ I ain’t violent, until that moment, dammit, until that very moment…

Sitting at the bar
Not drunk, just drinking
Listening to the music
Thinking how beautiful it is

Loving people, loving life
Loving myself
Teaching myself
How to feel good

Being good natured
Being human

Until that moment

Nobody
Fucked with me
I didn’t want to hit anyone
In the head

Until that moment

That moment
That moment…

Until that very moment
Tshak!*

*Flesh and bone, motherfucker.

The Bus is Goin’ Mighty Slow

People are getting hostile. They want equality. Oops, no, they want power. The people, you know, the people, the multitudes, all those people who live like shit… the people. The people who don’t read this, because they are busy working their asses off to keep living. Time to stop giving them lip-service, like I am doing here, because they will rise.
You know what Napoleon said? People will fight harder for their interests than for their rights. How right he was. It’s a terrible thing, but it is a fact supported by history. He used this fact to manipulate the entire european continent.
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So, look at the interests of the people now, and look at what is going on in the world. How long can it go on like this? How long can people in power slow the bus?
Long claws they may have, but they can’t hold on forever.
Blue Arse from The Mekons.

Drunken Soul

Walking along, on and on. Tottering on the razor’s edge, staggering, step after wavering step, falling down, down… no matter, you’re not going to give up now. Not ever. It’s your particular way to stagger. You’ll stand the pain, if you should fall on the razor’s edge. You’ll get cut, like a hundred times before, but wotthehell.
Cut to the bone, but you have to stand up. You have to show the world you can take the pain. Indomitable will, and so on. You talk to your drunken soul: you goin’ to give up now, you lazy little cunt? Down to the last minute, down to the last second, down to the bitter fucking end: keep your head up. Walk proud.

Fight

Don’t give up. You’ve got to fight when you’re cornered. You have no choice, you’ve got nothing to lose… so fight. Most likely, you aren’t in the corner you thought. Maybe you’re not in any corner at all, but rather on the open road. Alone, no cover in sight, the eagle swooping down… Well then, fight. Go down screaming bloody murder if go down you must, but don’t fucking whine. Take it from an incorrigible whiner. Besides, maybe they are not after you in the first place. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they are after you.
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Confusion, Confusion

Recently someone told me I am confusing my readers. All right, I’ll let you in on it, it was that officious little bastard who calls himself Mr. Wilder. The bloody fucking EDITOR. He said: why do you post every six days? It’s totally confusing! Post once a week, everyone understands that. You post every six days… monday, next week sunday, people look monday, next week saturday, they look monday… and so on, until they look monday and you post first on tuesday!
What
What the fuck…? Doesn’t he realize I have to keep my readers on their toes? No way am I ever going to let them get in to any kind of rhythm here. That would be far too easy. Rhythm is routine, and routine is mindless, and mindless… that is to say mindsdlessness is… mindlessism? Ähhh…
Whatever. Fuck ’im. Never ever will I blog once a week. Not on my life. Not even on yours. If you find it confusing, tough titty in the big city, as my parents used to say.
Listening to Chipatapata, from Thomas Mapfumo

Interview With the Author No. 327

Hellstrøm: Before you ask: I got the idea for the book from the dead guy buried in my garden.
q: …
Hellstrøm: Don’t look at me that way.
q: …
Hellstrøm: I said, don’t look at me.
q: …
Hellstrøm: To be exact, I got the whole book from the guy buried in my garden. And before you ask, yes, I killed him. He was an old friend, he gave me the manuscript to read, and as soon as I realized that it was a masterpiece I killed him and gave it out as my own.
q: …
Hellstrøm: Don’t you fucking look at me! *puts inhaler over mouth and sucks greedily, glowering at interviewer insanely*
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