You Take a Piece of Me With You

Sometimes when I’m really frustrated with writing, I get the most intense urge to clean an organize. I suspect this is better than shooting up, but it feels rat-like and pathetic. My little dust up. My mini purge. Today, it was all about the piles, labeling, organizing. There was a little face picking and scalp digging. Fun! Then I found a folder mysteriously titled “Film.” It had decaying articles with movie ideas, or kernels of ideas, or something even smaller than a kernel. A kern? There was an aborted memoir about an older gent I took pottery lessons from. Now there’s a money maker! It had the first tv pitch I ever wrote with my sister Gail (now a famous writer/director in Hollywood, ten years my junior, 20 pounds lighter – so annoying). Then I threw the whole thing out. Then I retrieved it.

Good story?