Categories > Original > Drama > Lola
SSDD
If you walk into a local cafe here in Columbia, Maryland, you'll find people like me sitting in easy chairs in a semi-circle, reading and writing. Whether it be a Barnes & Noble, Borders, or some random java hut, readers are the fuel to the establishment.
I am no different, Tyler Wallace, 23 years old, single and only a couple years out of UMBC. My major was English, but I spent most of my time doing journalism and creative writing. I'm a critic, in the worst kind of way when it comes to writing.
I've read many a Frost, Hemingway, Faulkner, Burkowski, Poe, Kipling, Dickens, even that horrible Tolstoy. And my conclusions are plain and simple, anyone who can write a decent sonnet, essay, memoir, poem, story, whatever form befits them, has to be dead.
I have not, for the longest time, had the pleasure of reading a fresh and sweetly appeasing work from any of our modern writers. What has happened to our culture and class? What has become of enlightening our masses, masses hungry for literary gratification? Depression and grief are a staple these days in writing. Just read some of the latter mentioned writers and you'll see what I mean. Hemingway even went as far as to blow his brains out with a shotgun.
Alas, we might as well be in the dark ages all over again, with improper spelling, atrocious grammar, and below average punctuality!
This sounds so juvenile and idiotic, but the world needs a hero! We need a new Shakespeare to blow the dust off of the pages and covers of those antiquated tomes that line shelves upon shelves in a library, study, den, bathroom floor, wherever damn it!
Whatever legacy we wish to leave our children and theirs, dies with the drying out of a pen or printer ink. We will leave them stories of yore, unable to thrust the proper scriptures and scripts into their hands to quill their way into a bolder and brighter catalog of reading.
And what of my own work? Who am I to wring my hands and gnash my teeth you may ask? Simple, I can't find an editor or publisher. But yet, if I ever need a lawyer, there are a gaggle of them waiting tables in downtown DC! This further fluctuates my anguish like fuel on flames, only no phoenix shall ever rise from the ashes.
Yet, there is still hope, still hope I tell you in one mystery individual who is of little recognition. A woman who could bring back the pesto of journalism and writing, a woman who can cut the chains of ignorance and procrastination, and be a Moses to us all!
A simple name is all that she can sorted by, a simple name with sensuous beguiling script!
Now, you may ask, "Who is this Savior?" My friend, if I knew exactly who they were, I'd have gone under their tutelage a long time ago. All I have are a few short essays and a George W. Bush satire she wrote a couple years back. How did I find her? It was either an act of God (although I'm not religious) or a complete perfect accident....
If you walk into a local cafe here in Columbia, Maryland, you'll find people like me sitting in easy chairs in a semi-circle, reading and writing. Whether it be a Barnes & Noble, Borders, or some random java hut, readers are the fuel to the establishment.
I am no different, Tyler Wallace, 23 years old, single and only a couple years out of UMBC. My major was English, but I spent most of my time doing journalism and creative writing. I'm a critic, in the worst kind of way when it comes to writing.
I've read many a Frost, Hemingway, Faulkner, Burkowski, Poe, Kipling, Dickens, even that horrible Tolstoy. And my conclusions are plain and simple, anyone who can write a decent sonnet, essay, memoir, poem, story, whatever form befits them, has to be dead.
I have not, for the longest time, had the pleasure of reading a fresh and sweetly appeasing work from any of our modern writers. What has happened to our culture and class? What has become of enlightening our masses, masses hungry for literary gratification? Depression and grief are a staple these days in writing. Just read some of the latter mentioned writers and you'll see what I mean. Hemingway even went as far as to blow his brains out with a shotgun.
Alas, we might as well be in the dark ages all over again, with improper spelling, atrocious grammar, and below average punctuality!
This sounds so juvenile and idiotic, but the world needs a hero! We need a new Shakespeare to blow the dust off of the pages and covers of those antiquated tomes that line shelves upon shelves in a library, study, den, bathroom floor, wherever damn it!
Whatever legacy we wish to leave our children and theirs, dies with the drying out of a pen or printer ink. We will leave them stories of yore, unable to thrust the proper scriptures and scripts into their hands to quill their way into a bolder and brighter catalog of reading.
And what of my own work? Who am I to wring my hands and gnash my teeth you may ask? Simple, I can't find an editor or publisher. But yet, if I ever need a lawyer, there are a gaggle of them waiting tables in downtown DC! This further fluctuates my anguish like fuel on flames, only no phoenix shall ever rise from the ashes.
Yet, there is still hope, still hope I tell you in one mystery individual who is of little recognition. A woman who could bring back the pesto of journalism and writing, a woman who can cut the chains of ignorance and procrastination, and be a Moses to us all!
A simple name is all that she can sorted by, a simple name with sensuous beguiling script!
Now, you may ask, "Who is this Savior?" My friend, if I knew exactly who they were, I'd have gone under their tutelage a long time ago. All I have are a few short essays and a George W. Bush satire she wrote a couple years back. How did I find her? It was either an act of God (although I'm not religious) or a complete perfect accident....
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