In all my literary quests I've never come across one so refreshingly opinionated and wit-licious as Mark Twain. I've started reading some of the letters he wrote to colleagues (published in the years after his death) and I've found myself laughing out loud in coffee shops. These excerpts are chalk-full of endless hilarity... and style, the man had style! If I could get away with a white suit and a handle bar mustache, I would, but the estrogen kind of makes that hard. He gets skated over as some of sort of literary fossil, which is irrefutable, but when you call someone a "historical icon" you think of hot days and field trips with drippy-nosed children and black and white photos of uninteresting dead people. The words "historical icon" kill the vibrancy, in my opinion, and Mark Twain is a breathing legacy, one that mocks and laughs out of the pages in his novels and letters. You visit his official website and it's as dry a box of rotten raisins. His wit was as sharp as a samurai blade and as shamelessly(/dangerously) opinionated as my younger brother in Compton, by God! Anyway, the man needs a proper, modern tribute, because the stuff they tell you about him in primary school and high school isn't the least bit relate-able They don't tell you, for instance, that he was an under-achiever with a sort of listless complacency... I mean, really, under-achievers can unite under Mark Twain, because he floated along the Mississippi until he reinvented himself, something we've all (at some point) secretly wanted--the re-inventing part. Anyway, at the heart of my drippy saccharine praises I'm saying we all need to whip out a little Mark Twain, slap someone upside the head with a dash of wit, flourish a sprig of sass in our walk or our handle bar mustache, and say with our best Charleston twang, "Laaawd." And of course, we would say this for no good reason other than our own amusement, dammit.
Maybe this rant is the product of a five hour energy and a 500ml mexican coca-cola, but I feel like it's been a long time coming. There's something sickeningly bland about Orange County suburbia, it's its own rotten ecosystem, complete with mid-sized sedans and three bedroom houses, women with brown roots and blonde hair, purse dogs, and enough over roasted coffee to parch us into the Apocalypse... word. Writers like Twain battled the bland, broke the barriers of banality, and broadened the breadth to mock ourselves and the world around us. What is life without satire. Inspired by Twain's uninhibited prose I've been certain to add a potent dose of personality into some of my new edits. There's enough PC-bland in the world. And it will go like it always does, my publisher will raise a brow (metaphorically), but put my insanity through the printing press with an exasperated sigh and think they've either approved something horrific or genius, or both. Eh. I'd like to think anyway.
Happy witticisms to you all and a fabulous Thursday!
Maybe this rant is the product of a five hour energy and a 500ml mexican coca-cola, but I feel like it's been a long time coming. There's something sickeningly bland about Orange County suburbia, it's its own rotten ecosystem, complete with mid-sized sedans and three bedroom houses, women with brown roots and blonde hair, purse dogs, and enough over roasted coffee to parch us into the Apocalypse... word. Writers like Twain battled the bland, broke the barriers of banality, and broadened the breadth to mock ourselves and the world around us. What is life without satire. Inspired by Twain's uninhibited prose I've been certain to add a potent dose of personality into some of my new edits. There's enough PC-bland in the world. And it will go like it always does, my publisher will raise a brow (metaphorically), but put my insanity through the printing press with an exasperated sigh and think they've either approved something horrific or genius, or both. Eh. I'd like to think anyway.
Happy witticisms to you all and a fabulous Thursday!
Laugh. You know you want to. :)
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