Laurie Notaro's 10 Rules for Writing a Book (WARNING: Violence Ahead)
I am living in 1927, in London, Scotland, Paris, and Florida. I ride in Rolls-Royces, wear the jewels from the ancient crown of Poland and Catherine the Great, I am married, divorced, widowed, divorced, I have millions and I have pretty close to nothing. I am a silent screen actress, a beauty contest winner, the heir to a coffee fortune, the richest woman in England. My father was offered the Viceroyship of India and the throne of Albania (which he wisely refused). I stay at Claridge's when in London but in Florida, my mother makes my clothes. I have a new York accent, an English inflection, and an Alabama drawl.
I am writing a book. I am 50 characters and I have six weeks to finish telling their story. I'll make it, but only if my world is kept in precise, perfect order and the rest of the world can stay quiet.
These are the rules for writing a book:
10. Don't ask me if the dog has been fed. Just feed her.
9. Don't text me and ask me how the book is going. If I wrote less than 2,000 words today, it's shitty and I will hit you without provocation.
8. Don't call me and ask me to update my Sears Bullshit Warranty for my washing machine. When I find out who you are, I will suck the eyeballs out of your head and spit them back at you.
7. Don't walk by my house and make the dog bark. Fuckface.
5. Don't ask me what I want for dinner. That's why I put a Domino's app on your iPad.
4. Don't tell my editor that I am still living and trying to write 2,000 words a day. I love her, but let's keep her thinking I'm still in a coma for now.
3. I don't give a rat's pink puckered ass if we are out of milk. You drank it all.
2. Person in the Honda, if you honk outside my office window one more time, I am going to pull your intestines out your asshole like it is goddamned taffy. SHUT THE FUCK UP.
1. Guy with the gas powered leaf blower across the street: You have five seconds to cease and desist or I'm tossing a match at you. I don't care that you have 10 children in a two bedroom apartment. At all. I don't give a shit about orphans; I'M WRITING A BOOK.
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