Mentalechoes

Popular writing!

It’s something I’ve been turning over in my head for a while now. I want to write something - a short novel - but I want it to be something that will have some impact; be something that will make people choke with disgust, or bellow in laugher at the things I tell them. The problem really is how to do this. Anyone can write; a smaller number can write well; yet only a few can write stuff that captivates an audience and compells them to read page after page.

Two of my favourite writers are Charles Bukowski, and Hunter S. Thompson. Both of these guys were icons of their generations, they wrote raw gritty contemporary stories that eviscerated mainstream culture and exemplified the low life scumbag. Women by Bukowski is a particular favourite that I keep coming back to. It’s almost autobiographical in it’s style, telling about a series of events based centrally around Bukowksi himself between two periods of time. Basically it’s about the women in his life; how he finds them, how he treats them, and how he loses them. The man himself is a bastard alcoholic drug user who treats women with great tenderness and complete disdain all at the same time. How someone can be such a fucking prick and yet keep attracting women, albiet ones with no self esteem, is totally beyond me, but he does, and he writes about it. The story itself though is brilliantly written because it illustrates low life culture with a sharp magnifying glass, capturing all the details and emotions in a raw and unapologetic manner.

Both of these guys had that talent; that ability to write raw stuff that keeps you turning the pages because you get sucked into the life they are talking about, that they lived! To a lesser extent two Aussie guys write in a style that imitates these two, though it seems tame by comparison. I’m talking about Andrew McGahan, and John Birmingham. If you haven’t read anything by them, I would suggest getting a hold of “Praise” (McGahan) and “He Died With A Falafel In His Hand” (Birmingham). Excellent books!

It seems though if you want to write stuff like this then you have to live the life that goes with it. I’m wondering if that means I should go back to having a serious cocaine habit coupled with an habitual drinking problem. Sure mainstream society and the surgeon general look at such things with utter contempt, yet the truth of it is there is also a morbid fascination with such lives. How else can you explain the cult popularity that such writers enjoy? It’s exactly the same reason why pornography is so popular; because the masses who live such sanitised lives become voyeurs to explore lifestyles which they themselves have quite safely removed themselves from any chance of experiencing!

Voyeurism! The more outrageous or taboo something is, the more interesting it becomes. There is a directly porportional relationship between the two!

So now I wonder really if any great writing project can be done by someone who hasn’t touched the darker side of life. After all how can someone who hasn’t done anything more interesting in their own lives than take a two week package vacation to Casa Del Crapo resort in Tourist Town, tell a story that will make me hunger for every word? On the other hand, surrendering your life to your obsessive self indulgent, self destructive nature seems ultimately to lead to a tragic end. Thompson blew his head off with a shotgun. He wrote these final words as his last legacy.

“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun—for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax—This won’t hurt.”

Bukowski died of Lukemia, surely aided by - probably not caused by - years of uncontrolled drinking and substance abuse.

I suppose in the end it makes you question what you want to leave behind; a life of mediocrity and anonymity, or a legend.

Padwanna!