There’s a lotta stuff out today about what Tucker Carlson said on Fox last night, the bullshit he spewed that is not just nonsensical but dangerous.

I watched some of his show last week, and I started to write about it, then I got frustrated and angry and bored. But now I decided it does nothing to leave shit like this on my desktop so here it is- you’re welcome world.

 Here’s what I was writing while I was watching last week, before the impeachment trial started, but just after Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez livestreamed her thoughts on the (so-called) attack on the Capitol:

 Current events have been a roller coaster recently. So much going on, and a lot of news sources have different interpretations of stuff, and I’m not sure what to make of a lot of it. I’m very confused sometimes as to what to believe. 

 For example, I watched the stuff that happened at the Capitol a few weeks ago, and I was very dismayed. On its face, it seemed like a bunch of people who had been whipped into a frenzy by other, devious people who lied to them about a bunch of stuff that never happened (and got the whipped into a frenzy people to give them lots of money). Then the devious people convinced the whipped into a frenzy people to go into the Capitol building and fuck some shit up. They did some vandalism, stole some things, broke some stuff, pooped and peed where they weren’t supposed to... (and to be fair, that might just have been because had to poop and pee and couldn’t find the bathroom, or sometimes there are keys to the mens’ room and the ladies’ room, like my dentist has the key to the mens’ room attached to a Batman figure and the ladies’ room key attached to a  They murdered one policeman, beat some others, a few other people died. They chanted “Hang Mike Pence!” Which seems a little out of control. Scary! Some of them had what lots of people have referred to as zipties, like the things you use to close garbage bags,  but what looked to me like flexcuffs, which are plastic substitutes for metal handcuffs, like the ones used by cops and doms.  Flexcuffs are easier to manage than metal handcuffs- you don’t need a key, they fit ANYBODY you want to lock up, and they’re much lighter and therefore easier to carry a bunch with you. 

 All of this taken together made me scared- for the people in the Capitol at the time, for the state of politics in the country, for the future of American Democracy.

 But tonight I watched a little Tucker Carlson, and man, did he take a load off my mind.

 Apparently what I saw as a violent mob deceived into trying to overturn the lawful process of government was mostly just a guy Tucker calls “Chewbacca Guy.”  I don’t know where Tucker got that nickname, not sure if this Chewbacca Guy was a pilot and a mechanic known for his loyalty or what. Tucker also called him “a hairy stoner in a Viking Helmet.” Immediately sounds completely harmless, right? Really put my mind at ease. And I got a good chuckle out of my initial reaction, which was totally unwarranted.

 Tucker showed some footage of Chewbacca Guy on the floor of the Senate, after the so-called “violent mob” had fought their way  into the Capitol (if you even want to call it “fighting,” which some of it absolutely was). And let’s just say he didn’t come across in THIS particular footage as violent or scary- more as a pretty dim guy playing dress-up, who didn’t really know what to do with himself once he got into the Senate chamber (While I was watching it on Tucker’s show, I was kinda waiting for Chewbacca Guy to shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level, but I guess that’s not where Tucker got the nickname either).  

 Tucker also pointed out that many of the so-called “violent insurrectionists” were over 65. I’m pretty sure once you turn 65 it doesn’t matter how much hate and rage you have inside, or how high it’s boiling, you couldn’t hurt a flea even if you wanted to. 

 Which is why it’s so ridiculous that Sandy Cortez has made a big deal about it! In case you don’t know, “Sandy Cortez” is Tucker’s nickname for Congresswoman Alexandria Occasio-Cortez.  And boy does he call her that! I bet in the 90 seconds or two minutes he was talking about her, he must have said “Sandy Cortez” ten times or more- really imprinting it on my brain. By the end of it I could barely even think back to when I used to think of her as Congresswoman Alexandria Occasio-Cortez. Which, jeebus, what a mouthful. And honestly, a beautiful, audacious, commanding name.  But referring to her over and over as “Sandy Cortez” is so fun- it totally diminishes, makes her sound flimsy and unimportant. 

 After that he segued into a segment about why there are troops at the Capitol when there are crimes being committed elsewhere in Washington, D.C. Shouldn’t people be worried about those other crimes? It’s like when people advocate for stricter gun laws in the United States, and they don’t say a friggin’ word about violence in Chicago. Um, excuse me, why are we talking about this when there’s that? 

 Anyway, I turned it off pretty quick when that started because I was getting tired of watching Tucker’s logic brain do straddle jump straight jump half turn, a few split prone poses, then sissone chasse leg swing hop back walkover and repeat. Exhausting to even watch, I can’t imagine how it must feel to do it. As best I could gather from what I did see, the troops are in the Capitol not to protect democracy (from who? Chewbacca Guy and a bunch of shuffling geezers who’d be just as happy gumming a bowl of apple sauce?), but because the new Administration has changed the definition of Democracy to match what it was in 80’s Eastern Bloc countries- you agree with the people in power or else. 

 Also, Tucker says they think I’m basically ISIS. I don’t know who he means by “they,” my sense is it’s Democratic politicians, but I just want to say once and for all I am not ISIS. 

 That’s as far as I got. “I am not ISIS.” Seems like that was what Tucker was trying to convince me I needed to prove to the world/Demonrats/Fake Media/Libtard Snowflakes/whoever. 

 And I can say it all I want, “I am not ISIS,” but I unfortunately do NOT have receipts. Sorry.

Also, here’s an editorial from the weak snowflake libtard Demonrat Jeff Bezos owned Amazon affiliated Fake News Washington Post about Tucker and Sandy that came out I guess around the time I was writing all this.

I got an email from a person about the difficulty of writing:

 It feels overwhelming to sit and do. Writing is daunting; mostly I sit and stare...

 It is. One does. I do.

I myself have been a writer for over two months now, and I’ve never gotten past how difficult writing can be sometimes.  Most of the time? One thing I’ve learned along the way is that a lot of writers feel that way, and they love to write about THAT. Writing which I love to read, and I do, because maybe somebody out there somewhere will have a solution for me. I’m kind of addicted to reading what other people say about writing. I have shelf upon shelf of books that contain all kinds of writing about all kinds of writing, and I’ve read them all, and reading them has done one good thing and one bad thing for me.

The good thing is, it has slowly, over time, with extensive research and study, upon reflection and with careful consideration, become clear that I am not the only one who has difficulty with writing. My difficulty might be worse than other people’s, probably is, certainly I feel it more personally, it can’t be as hard for them as it is for me, but they have difficulties too. And they have thought about those difficulties, and the craft, in ways that fascinate me endlessly.

The bad thing is, all that time I spent reading about writing was time I spent reading not writing. Good excuse!

 As it turns out, the only way I can get to writing sometimes is to accept that it’s hard, and do it anyway. I remember years ago listening to an interview with Jerry Seinfeld, and he mentioned something that happened early in his career when he was having trouble just sitting down and writing:

One day I was watching these construction workers go back to work. I was watching them kind of trudging down the street. It was like a revelation to me. I realized these guys don’t want to go back to work after lunch. But they’re going. That’s their job. If they can exhibit that level of dedication for that job I should be able to do the same. Trudge your ass in.

 He’s done okay since then. 

Sometimes I feel like I don’t know exactly what I want to write. Or I do, but I don’t know exactly HOW to write about it. So why bother sitting down to do it, if I’m not inspired?

I can’t control when I’m going to be inspired. All I can control is whether I’m ready when it comes, and if I’ve decided to watch TV for a while, or doomscroll on Twitter, or bake marzipan bites for later, or check my email, I’m actively pushing it away. I’m not saying I’m good about this, but I do TRY to put myself in position to be ready when it comes. 

First thing I learned in tennis… class? workshop? symposium?… was “grab the racket like you’re shaking hands with it, bend your knees, then with your other hand grab it by the neck. There. That’s the ready position. Now if somebody serves, you’re ready to hit it back.” So whatever that is for writing, I try to do that every day. I don’t. But I try.

Grab the computer by the neck like you’re shaking hands. Wait for the serve. Hit it back.

Don’t loaf and invite inspiration; light out after it with a club, and if you don’t get it you will nonetheless get something that looks remarkably like it.

That one was Jack London. Also did well.

So:

1)    Understand it’s difficult, and not only for you, so it’s okay.

2)    Do it anyway.

3)    Don’t wait to be inspired. 

And finally, consistency. I’ve recently started following a guy named Scott Myers on Twitter. He’s a screenwriter who blogs extensively about writing, and I enjoy reading his stuff, both  because he has some good insights and because it helps me avoid actually writing (addicted!).

 Here’s something he wrote that I’ve been thinking about a lot.

I like all of it, but the number that stands out to me is 1. Had I been writing one page a day just since I moved to Hollywood, I would have close to 6000 pages by now! How many pilots? (200) How many screenplays? (66.6 repeating) And obviously it's more complicated than that, because I've been working a lot of that time... but not all of it, by any means, so still, a lot of wasted time. That one page a day adds up, and I have let lots of time go by.

 It's definitely a struggle. Commit to the struggle. 

I got another email, just the other day, this one from a friend who writes wonderful stories about his childhood in the 50’s in the deeply rural west of Ireland (he left there as a young man and moved to London for a while, and then he and I arrived in America the same week, as it turns out). His wife of many, many years died last year, and it hit him pretty hard. And that sadness clearly hasn’t left him. His grief is not gone. But, he told me, the writing helps:

My escape is the stories. While I’m writing, I’m there at a time when I could do anything. 

The act looms so large in prospect, is so easy to avoid, but often when I sit down to do it (though not always by any means), I look up and it’s four hours later and I haven’t had a care in the world except the page in front of me, and I know a little more.

I’m contradicting myself. It seems I’m saying the writing itself isn’t hard, it’s the sitting down. And sitting down is easy.

So maybe ultimately the best answer is just let gravity work? Wow. Writing is suddenly so easy.

See? Now I know a little more.

Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. 

That one was Louis L’Amour, and I like that one enough that years ago I scribbled it won on a scrap of paper and stuck it on a bulletin board in my office in New York, and I still have it.  Somewhere. I can’t find it right now. That New York office was great. I gotta try to recreate that out here. Maybe I can do that instead of write...

By the way, I get the sense that nobody ever told L’Amour it was okay to turn the faucet off once in a while. I mean, geez Louise, Louis, not every thought needs to be a novel.

I kid because I am jealous, and he is dead.