Blogophiles, I fear I'm losing my edge. I wonder, as I lie awake in bed, if the snark is draining from my entries. After at least 15 minutes of serious contemplation I think I've come to the root of the problem:
I'm not pissed about ANYTHING!
That's it, folks. That's the key. I'm not riled, I'm not irked, I'm not even irritated. Not even a lil yeasty itchy action. I'm downright happy! I realize that happy is a good thing....the best thing, but it's like putting my writing into a spray-paint-fume-induced coma. As recently as a month or so ago I was laced with a bit of cynicism and bitchiness, but now I have two jobs I like, money, and I plant flowers regularly. Not to mention the fact that dogs relieve stress and anger and I have three of them.
In truth, this thought actually came to me last weekend when I saw an interview with Carl Hiaasen on one of those nightly news shows...Dateline, Primetime, 69/69, whatever. For those of you not familiar with Carl Hiaasen, he's a wildly successful author from Florida who writes the most fucked up crime/satire you can possibly imagine. Here's a short blurb about his latest book, Skinny Dip:
Hiaasen's signature mix of hilariously over-the-top villains, lovable innocents and righteous indignation at what mankind has done to his beloved Florida wilderness is all present in riotous abundance in his latest. It begins with attractive heiress Joey Perrone being tossed overboard from a cruise ship by her larcenous husband, Chaz—not for her money, which she has had the good sense to keep well away from him, but because he fears she is onto his crooked dealings with a ruthless tycoon who is poisoning the Everglades. But instead of drowning as she's supposed to, Joey stays afloat (on a wayward bale of marijuana) until she is rescued by moody ex-cop Mick Stranahan, a loner who has also struck out in the marriage department.
The blurb doesn't even begin to touch the wackiness of his situations and satire, but it'll have to do for now. Hiaasen commented, on the nameless news program, that he continues to come up with riveting storylines because he's mad. He's mad about the human sludge that continually seeps into Florida from crooked residents to cheesy tourists and the befucked state of the environment.
In the past I've found my most entertaining writing comes when I'm uproarious about something....the negative talk about chick lit., porn in general, women's issues, wacky-jacked news stories, you get the picture. Oh, and Jonathan Safran Foer...*priming flamethrower*. But, like I said, lately....even keel. This good mood thing is killin' me. I haven't worked on my book lately...haven't written any articles...haven't even been following the news that closely.
What lights the creative fire under you, reader?? What coaxes you into putting out?