andom writings about nothing at all. Or everything ever.
Fuck it. It’s never going to happen. I’ll just be a copywriter for a pharmaceutical advertising agency until I die. Certainly it pays better than being a novelist. No need to delusionally continue to chase lifelong dreams of being an author. Clearly it’s a waste of time for me.
Read MoreIt read like the journal entry of a struggling hack grappling with emotional, intellectual and creative insecurities through the fog of her narcissism. It did not read like a professional person cooly evaluating her strengths and weaknesses, her accomplishments and her shortcomings in the course of executing her work. I could see my boss rolling his eyes as he read it.
Read MoreBeing an advertising copywriter is much closer to being a writer than a lot of other writers get to. Maybe I should just be grateful for that proximity and stop with my delusions of being a Writer with a capital W. So what if I never see the words “A Novel by Sage Romano” in the real world. Who the fuck cares?
Read MoreIn recent years bookstores have become increasingly vexing and anxious spaces for me. What used to be places of peace are now fraught with urgency; not about which books to read, which should be the only anxiety one has in a bookstore, but rather my continual failure to finish any one of my fucking three novel manuscripts.
Read MoreWhat happens when huge masses of people don’t think enough about something? Just ask the Republican Party.
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