Is This Real Life?

I am unemployed. I am broke. I am an artist. Today, it all feels official.

For the first time in my life I have the time to write what I want, whenever I want. No master, no authority figure. On one side, it is liberating; the only rules and bounds that I face are those that I have set for myself. The other side of the coin, however, comes with a world of uncertainty and fear.

Writing is great, but paying my rent is even greater.

A travel journal, originally, this place has seen all sides of my opinions and view points - from my thoughts on Glee to Pat Robertson - so now, it is time for another shift. This will be my outlet, a portal into the life of a nobody Brooklyn writer trying to become a somebody.

For some preliminary information about my writing side, I am a film, theatre, and television writer with an odd love of pretentious literary fiction (I do hold a BFA after all, so it comes with the territory). I am terribly opinionated. I like what I like, and when I really hate something I always have a reason. Hate then, is separate from appreciation. I can appreciate a piece and yet truly hate the way it is written (cough, Virginia Woolf, Gertude Stein, cough), and I think that this is a necessary awareness for all writers. Appreciation of voice. Because, answer me this: what is a writer without their voice?

-E

[yes, I am aware I used "their" for "his or her" - I hate that gender neutral thing.]

The National Book Critics Circle Announces Award Winners

The National Book Critics Circle Announces Award Winners

Woo! So glad Freedom didn't win ... now on to checking out Skippie Dies and A Visit From The Goon Squad...

-E