The Double Meaning of Tweets

Really, you can interpret this tweet as both a description of the blustery weather outside + an unconscious desire for publication.  But maybe I'm just overintellectualizing again . . .

Someday I'll Cry

When I finally get my first book published, when I finally see my first book in print, when my family finally reads a complete book of mine, when my friends can go + buy my books at their local bookstore (or at least fucking order them), when I have something to actually post in a perfectly legit Wikipedia article, the truth is, I'm going to cry my fucking eyes out because this industry can be so brutal + so impenetrable. Trying to make it as a literary novelist is by far the hardest, most difficult + most excruciatingly drawn-out thing I've ever done in my entire life. It can break your heart, inhale your soul + weigh on you like a broken limb. It can beat you down, keep you frozen in time + elude you like a specter. There are no promises in publishing. Nothing guarantees anything, not hard work, connections, schmoozing, the right MFA program, the right contacts--nothing is anything until it's everything.

For all of these reasons, once I finally get the call (or the letter), I'm going to do the same shit I did when I got into USC, I'm going to gulp really hard, take a moment to let reality seep into my pores, I'm gonna look around the room for signs of the dreamworld + then I'm going to cry my fucking eyes out because it's tough being a writer in the digital era, especially when people have become immune to literary fiction + the publishing industry no longer protects + promotes art the way it once did. On that inevitable day when I finally break through the surface, I'm gonna cry my fucking eyes out because writing is my fuel, writing is my grotto, the one perfect prayer in my heart, the one perfect orphan that I love completely + entirely, the one ripple in time where my voice is unique, beautiful + resonant. Like love + mirrors, travel + ecstasy, there are no limits in writing whatsoever except for the million different ways we close our eyes to the world. For me, writing has always been the first maze, the second kiss + the last drawing.