Writing....a place where a deeper unease can penetrate through the sickness, aching muscles, so lightweight that even the tinniest of atoms can weigh you down. No different from a junkie so that makes the writer vulnerable because he isn't really free to choose from that part of him. That place chooses him.
So then comes the display of your guts, your blood, your sweat and tears.
You lay open like a gutted fish.
You wait for the whimper of dawn where someone says, "Hey, that shit you wrote? It's pretty damned good."
So you surrender, like a junkie does when he steadies the rig to the vein.
Euphoric.
Published? Means nothing. It's how you get yourself out there that can get you in trouble.
I hired a marketing firm in the beginning because nobody knew me from spit.
Take a risk knowing you'll fall.
I did to the tune of 25000 dollars.
Take a risk, when the needle pricks the skin and you feel the sting. Overdose?
Don't even know where the path leads.
In this case, to an empty bank account. None of the publicity I wanted for DAZED(The Story of a Grunge Rocker) first in the DAZED novel series happened because one of the partners left the company with my files and my cash that should have paid for print and radio advertisments.
More coming.
There are good times and bad times.
There are dreams inflated by the rush of smack when it punches.
All the writer wants is another reader to say, "Hey, that shit you wrote? It's pretty damned good."
Out-of-character to be taken.
Not out-of-character to give them the fuck-you in the end.
The beginning of my story I will share as it unfolds for new artists.
Risks can devour all our strength so that our ambitions fade.
I say, the sadness an itch might bring when taking risks is just the exhileration an artist needs. The words quit and writer don't belong on the same page.
Nikki Palomino
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