So yesterday I met this guy while walking in Riverside park with my friends. He was an interesting character to say the very least. When I walked passed him he was scribbling in a notebook, I had a feeling he was writer. I love meeting other writers. It doesn’t matter what they write, but in some sense they have the same mind set as me. Not many people have a creative mind, so when you meet people that do, its like a gold mine.
I guess I whisper really loud and he asked me if I wanted to read his stuff. I walked back and started reading his stuff. It was pretty good, but it wasn’t my style of poetry. I don’t really like things that rhyme, but that’s just me. I don’t like writing poetry with form because I personally am NOT a person of form. My other friends who are also writers came over and started talking to the guy. It was really awesome just meeting someone off the street and talking to them like you know them. I found out he was 20 and a big druggie and a writer. Most writers and college students are druggies so I wasn’t surprised or judgmental. He was telling us that he just applied to Brookdale. ( Point in my book) I started telling him about the creative writing club and he seemed to be really interested. I hope we recruited him.
Lately I was trying to form another writing group but I don’t know how I’d really start. It would be mostly adults. I want to join a readers group because I NEED to start reading, I feel I’m becoming illiterate. I am really trying to read this book called “Jay’s Journal”. It’s the sequal to Go Ask Alice. I really enjoyed Go Ask Alice, I read it in a day. This book on the other hand, I am having a difficult time getting through it. I am also reading Charles Bukowski’s Prettiest Woman in Town and other short stories. Those stories are strange I am telling you. There was this one story I read how the girl ( ironically named Sarah) was a witch and shrunk all the men to be 6 inches tall and than had sex with them. It was very strange.. I really don’t know where Charles Bukowski came up with this. Than there was another one that the girl was a robot and all she did was have sex with people. I mean wonder why Charles Bukowski only wrote about sex. Maybe his sex life wasn’t as great as he says it was. I say this because as a writer, we are all story tellers and liars.
If you guys know any good books, write them in the comment box. I must read more this school year. 2 books this summer is a disgrace.