Let the conference continue!
Have I ever told you how much I despise exclamation marks?
This is what an exclamation mark represents to me: The spot on the bottom is my eyeball. The slender pointed thing on top is a filth-encrusted, burning hot knitting needle that stabs me in the eye. It goes entirely through the eyeball, popping it like a grape, and continues onward to the center of my brain.
That is what exclamation marks do to me.
You know what else I despise?
Having to write a biography of myself.
The class begins:
By the way, in case you have not noticed, the noble colon is perhaps my most-favored punctuation mark.
It reminds me of halibut.
I know this: I will admit that even if you are a man, as I am, and you are a writer, again, as I, you probably cannot avoid using that utterly disgusting exclamatory implement of punctuation.
It is wise to avoid ever creating a character who routinely says shit like this:
"Squee!"
If I were, as I've wished in the past, an amoeba, I would split in two just so I could punch myself in the face for having written that.
On the other hand, I find characters who say the following to be both endearing and masculine:
"Holy shit!"
In this case, the exclamation mark is kind of like kissing your wizened, phlegm-hacking, chain-smoking grandmother: Disgusting, but obligatory. It is also offset by the indisputable coolness of the preceding two-word combination:
Holy + Shit
And, unfortunately, if you are a man, and you are a writer, somebody is going to inevitably require you to compose a short autobiography.
Autobiographies, like exclamation marks, make me feel slutty.
So I thought I'd give some tips to aspiring writers (especially manly ones) about how one goes about conquering the task of composing a short autobiography.
I have little arguments in my head between myself and myself.
This morning's argument went like this:
DREW 1: The people at Simon and Schuster are asking me to send in a biography.
DREW 2: Make shit up!
DREW 1: Why did you use an exclamation mark?
DREW 2: I like to fuck with you.
DREW 1: I got an email from a kid this morning. He asked why we don't have a Wikipedia page. I do not know why we don't have a Wikipedia page. I never thought about it.
DREW 2: You know what does have a Wikipedia page?
DREW 1: What?
DREW 2: Pus has a Wikipedia page. Also Underarm Hair has a Wikipedia page. You want to know why you don't have a Wikipedia page? Because you are a fucking loser, that's why.
DREW 1: Maybe I do not have a Wikipedia page because I do not ever submit short autobiographies of myself when people ask me to.
DREW 2: Let me write your autobiography for you. I will tell them all the most embarrassing shit I can remember about you.
DREW 1: Um. Look. I can't believe that author biographies and photos contribute in any positive way to the published work.
DREW 2: You don't believe in a lot of shit.
DREW 1: I'll have to give you that.
DREW 2: Did I actually just win this argument?
DREW 1: I think you did.
DREW 2: Squee!
This was my morning.
8 comments:
I wonder if a great novel ever missed publication because a writer made up a crazy biography.
Like:
Matthew MacNish is an ass goblin, who spends his days roaming the ruins of Auschwitz, doing what ass goblins do: lobotomizing children, using crusty, dull, rusted knitting needles.
Matt, do the needles have to be knitting needles? How about crochet needles?
And I think you can do something funky and quirky with an autobiography...so I heard.
I'll write one for you, Andrew.
Andrew Smith farms walnuts in the Ojai Valley, where he also grows avocados. He takes great pride in his guacamole recipe! Andrew's secret vice? The Kardashians! His favorite time of day? The Ojai Pink Moment, of course!
Other hobbies include clog dancing, for which he has won several awards, and baking avocado-walnut bread!
Don't crochet needles have little hooks on the end?
You guys are hilarious. Just saying.
Now I can truly go to sleep with a smile on my face. Between Holy + Shit, ass goblins of Auschwitz (thank you, Mathew for putting that image in my head), and avacado walnut bread (Kristen, you can write my bio any time), I can be tucked in and kissed good night.
Finally, I can truthfully say, Andrew, that I will never think the same way about exclamation points and popping eyeballs again. Squee.
I'll be honest . . . I feel pretty freakin' sweet right now.
-mentioned-
Andrew, I know you can rock a bio if need be. I think you just don't want to. End of story.
Until then. I'd like to hear more of these arguments in your head between yourself and yourself. They sound disturbingly familiar.
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