This book I’m writing is not about parenting. It’s not about anything. But it’s about everything. And although it’s funny cause I’m a joke writer primarily, it’s not all funny. Some of it is downright depressing. When I write I will tell you straight out I feel like a fraud. Will people think these are no more than journal writings? I ask myself over and over again. I pick up books by some of my favorite authors; Augusten Burroughs, Cynthia Heimel, Merrill Markoe and I marvel over how effortless they make it seem – like putting words on a page is no different than pouring a cup of coffee – like choosing which sentence which metaphor is the same as choosing a brand of peanut butter.
I know that I’m too sensitive to the mean things that people have said and will inevitably say to my innermost thoughts that I have the nerve to put on display and call myself an author. They will pick it apart and call me shallow or worse, not read it at all. But I can’t help but write. And for some reason which will never be fully understood to me, I have a book deal and a publisher who likes the way I write. So I continue. But for me, writing is like a teeth gnashing, beer guzzling, anxiety producing endeavor.
When I wrote for TV it was easier – in part I think – because it was a discipline that I’d worked on for years. I went to work, drank some coffee, snorted a few lines of coke and got down to the business of creativity. Some comedian friends used to say to me “Hey, I’d like to be a TV writer too. Can you hook me up?” and I’d think about what a huge difference there is between doing the same five minute act onstage a few nights a week and sitting at a desk for eight hours being funny. It’s not the same thing. In a way I feel like one of those people who thinks “Hey, if I can do it for TV why not write a book?” It’s different. And to prove how much harder it is and how little time I have to myself, my brows are hairier than Frida Kahlo and my legs put my husband’s to shame -in girth and amount of hair. But I am getting the hair on my head cut today just to spite the muse. I’m starting to look like Joan Baez.
Think good thoughts for me. And, sure, the economy too.