Secret Writing Advice and the Electrocution of Cory
December 7, 2011 § 19 Comments
My friends Cory and Ro came to Santa Barbara for the weekend. As Cory lounged in my hot tub and we philosophized in a haze of steam while clutching cold Coronas, he mentioned that perhaps a young writer would come to my blog for writing advice and find instead the glittering shards of my debacle of a life. This sounded vaguely like criticism, so I dropped a vintage 1938 Zenith radio in the hot tub, electrocuting him immediately. As the paramedics applied paddles to Cory’s blue body sprawled out in the grass and he kissed the lucent brow of the grandmother he hadn’t seen in twenty-eight years, I contemplated his last words. It’s partly because as a marketer I want to draw as many people to my blog, and I’m not sure the subject of gerunds brings the moths to the flame. Also, some of the best writers in the country read this blog. How do I presume to give them advice? So I have compromised and started a page of secret writing tips you can visit if you like. Disclaimer: I am not sure any of this works, or even what I’m talking about. Thank you, Cory (I look skyward). Ro’s haunting rendition of In the Arms of The Angels with an Indian accent at your service left not a dry eye in the bar.
Kathy Hepinstall's Blog 
Never mind that. Cory looks really hot in a suit. Did your electrocution turn him gay?
Yes, Cory did cut a fine figure at my mother’s surprise luncheon. And I am sorry to disappoint you, but Cory is both straight and dead.
So you don’t slip me hemlock in our next round of tequila shooters, let me just apologize right now for any past or future comments that seemed like veiled criticism. Smug sarcasm is/was my intention. And if you couldn’t figure that out, well then, I don’t know what to say.
I wouldn’t worry unless the tequila smells of almonds.
Your secret writing advice to would-be writers is so simple, and yet so dammingly hard. Try, people, just try to Write Like Kathy. Make people snort precious, supposedly-intoxicating liquid out their noses as they peruse each blog post. Cause other writers to hate you for the ease in which you wrap gerunds around your pretty little finger. Turn some writers, okay, me, just me, into one who Reads Kathy instead of Writes Much At All. It’s becoming demoralizing and not just because of all the wasted alcohol on my face. Which reminds me…I once loved a boy in college who didn’t love me back, and who ended up marrying his high school sweetheart, a barmaid whose most memorable trick was snorting tequila through her nose. Ah, romance.
Speaking of which, I love you Janet.
PS like I said, some of the best writers in the country visit this blog.
What’s a gerund?
Hell, I don’t know, Rich.
Isn’t a gerund anything that ends in ing except anything and everything and something, and thing for that matter, and maybe that financial services company ING? Also, are you at liberty to name some of these best writers in the country besides Janet?
Snorting in a bemusing way. Isn’t gerunding the new grammar?
I would name some, Teresa, but so many are coming here now I know I would inadvertently forget one and then they’d be like, “What, I’m not a great writer?” Then I would cower and say, “No, of course you are! I didn’t mean to forget you;
I don’t even literally know who all my subscribers are because some of them are using their ridiculous usernames instead of their real names. Not that I think your user name is ridiculous, bigdik82.”
the Zenith in the tub murder weapon.
always more reliable than RCA.
Indeed, Jeff.
Are we talkin’ about Noonan? I am peeing at the thought of him in a hot tub. And thanks for the memories of Ro singing karaoke in Indian accent. He also does a mean rendition of When Doves Cry in said accent.
Ah, the memories.
Stef if we were talking about Noonan I would not be at liberty to say as I have kept the identity of this handsome-in-a-suit-at-my-mother’s-surprise-luncheon, electrocuted man a closely guarded secret until all the relatives are notified. Thank you for understanding Stef Sister.
hubba hubba
That hot tube might be the perfect instrument to launch you to the pinnacle of the literary world. Set up a retreat for famous writers to escape the bland world. Once lured, with their latest future best seller, a simple switch that slowly raises the temperature of the jacuzzi and a few cold coronas and they will not notices passing into the nether world like a lobster. A quick rifling through there laptop and you can have an endless stream of noteworthy master pieces ready for press.
Fiendishly clever, Phoenix.