About a year ago, Claire Legrand, my mom’s boss’s daughter and my former high school bandmate and the soon-to-be new rock star of Young Adult fiction (from what I can tell from my mom and her boss’s excitement), had as many people wanting to publish her first novel as that handsome policeman on The Walking Dead had zombies wanting his brains. From what I understand, Jesus will even be coming back a little early in 2012 to give her a read.
So I sent her an email asking her how I could take steps to maybe have Jesus add anything I’ve written to his cart also. It would be fun to be on the Jesus Kindle. She told me to start a blog, start a twitter account, but that she wouldn’t elaborate until I began bringing her hearts of baby unicorns. I became overwhelmed. I had to keep my futon folded up to make room for the baby unicorns. I had to get a second job to pay for all of the gummy bears and rainbows and unrefined, virgin coconut oil that it takes to plump up a baby unicorn heart to her liking. Meanwhile, in the last bearable moments of my hard-earned days, I wrote.
If I found a spare moment from it all, I also turned to my fellow writing friends to ask for advice. Mostly I just reminded them that they weren’t writing. They would sob, beg, “WHY?!” The only one who had been published, demanded that I bring him a bucket of lava before he would tell me any of his secrets.
All of these tasks! I’m not Hercules!
So I put it off. And had some vegan ice cream. And had some more vegan ice cream until the baby unicorns whined that it wasn’t fair that I had vegan ice cream and that they didn’t. So I focused on hiding my vegan ice cream instead of writing.
But then one particularly chilly night, I had a nightmare: I’d turned into my fellow writing friends. I became a Non-writer. Gasp! I woke in tears. Why? Because I actually almost, practically was a Non-writer. I crouched in self-flagellating shame, crying out that I would give the baby unicorns all of my vegan ice cream if they would just go away.
But then I saw the new Shepard Fairy mural in Dallas (I live in a Dallas suburb. Got lost trying to get lost.) that says ‘Rise Above’. And I told the baby unicorns to, ‘Shut it!’
And for the first time, I saw respect in their eyes.
I pictured each of my non-writer writing friends, and said to myself, ‘Mr. Jacob*, they need a leader.’ I’m not yet published, not yet awarded anything except for pats on the back with good ole’ keep it ups but I’ve decided that 2012 will be the year. Hopefully I’ll serve them well, inspire them. Rome wasn’t built in a day but I’ve had almost 28 years to get my act together.
So this blog begins! Now…
Hi! How’s life? I’m Jacob, 27, a little over a month from becoming 28, living in a suburb of Dallas, poor after so much unnecessary spending on Starbucks and gas. For what it’s worth, I’m gay. You look great in that, by the way! Whatever it is that you’re wearing. Just. Great. I know it has a latte stain on but you pull it off.
So I’m not sure what else to write about today. I’ll read around, sacrifice another baby unicorn to Claire in order to get some pointers. (P.S.: They’re only for her. Please don’t try to bribe me with advice in exchange for baby unicorn hearts. I’m tired. I have lots of horn puncture marks in me because they haven’t yet figured out how to hug right. But any free suggestions would be lovely. I’ll compliment any of your latte stains. I might even complement them, too.)
So that’s it. Officially signing off:
Oh that’s a little raunchy bit of a raunchy sign-off, isn’t? Gave yourself another latte stain? Well, I’m not taking responsibility. You’re grown up. At least you look it. I recommend jojoba oil for your face if you look older than you are.
Hmmm…I could go with “Peace, love, and rainbows”. That could be my sign-off. If I put that, I can just scroll up and delete the mention about being gay.
I’m decaffeinated. Who needs to say good-bye?
Until I write again!
* (always polite and formal here),