blah blah blah.

where do i go to become a writer? not of letters or lists or thank-you notes, but of stories.

i want to labor, sweat, and grunt under the weight of an Idea. i imagine a school where students first imitate others in order to learn -- "ah, this is vintage gaiman. notice the abundance of allusions and references to mythologies of obscure cultures." -- to appreciate, like an oenophile, the words of others. to, like, switch from one voice to another; and you know, recognize, not necessarily criticize, and figure out which one is hot given an Idea. then, in the multitude of voices, find mine.

i imagine a school where students must try writing with a pen and paper and see how words are wasted or how thoughts are seldom linear. i imagine exercises where one must write in different tenses and points-of-view just to see that I am not the same as You, not ever.

where writers are encouraged to write in the middle of the night, in the early morning just so they know how time affects their thoughts. hey you! write naked, write with your thinking cap on, write with music, without music, with a joint hanging from your mouth. write while you're drunk, while you're sad, while you're happy, while you're fucking angry, while you're fucking, while you're shitting. write upside-down, with your head on the floor, all your blood in your brain.

write a phrase, a sentence, write without thinking, write and argue over every fucking word and punctuation mark!

you know what, sam. get a grip. you don't need a fucking school. what you need is a fucking blog. and you already have one. after not updating it for a year, you decide to crap all of your stuff in one day. is this one of your exercises?