by Margret A. Treiber
A beta reader recently asked me if I was tripping while writing one of my short stories. I had to laugh because, for the most part, I write completely sober.
Frequently, I’ve considered getting bent and sitting in front of the keyboard. I figured some really righteous shit could pour out of my already twisted mind with the aid of a chemical boost. I mean, I write all manner of altered dimensions as it is. Imagine what madness I could produce on some kind of bender!
No such luck.
An intoxicated Margretbot is a slacking Margretbot. As hard as I might try, there is no way to prod any words out of my brain and into written word while I’m “beyond reason”. I can get to the waters of inspiration, my muses whispering in my ear with enthusiasm and gusto, but I can’t get the crap out of my head and into a file. So I sit there, giggling, my own personal entertainment being played and replayed which I am unable to share with the universe at large.
But what if I could? What if these wonderful musings could be somehow captured in print? It would be awesome! Would it not?
Then I reflect on the drawing of BigBrainia and the map of the giant penis that hung on the wall of my post-college apartment bedroom.
Knowing the massive potential for creativity among myself and my roommates, we plastered a large piece of craft paper on my wall to jot down all our amazing ideas so they would not be lost to sobriety. And yes, it was so freaking hysterical when we were toasted and giggling on the floor of my room.
In fact, it was magnificent.
We had quotes and drawings, maps and diagrams, and depictions of all the kings of imaginings you would expect to come out of the head of young, twenty-something, liberal arts grads in their first apartment.
The problem – it barely made any sense when we were sober. Wasted again, it was the most glorious written document in existence. Nursing the hangover, we squinted at it trying to figure out what penis map actually meant.
So, after reflection and consideration, I realize that although I write like I’m stoned, I’ll probably never write while I’m stoned. It would never work. Yeah, maybe if I was lucky, a handful of drunkards and meth heads may get a giggle but are meth heads really known for their eBook consumption?
So for now at least, until I’m in a nursing home on forced medications, all my crazy shit is coming to you unfettered and clean. Yes, this is how I think “normally”.
I leave the plastered pros to those better equipped to pull it off.
Margret’s prolific writings:
(tread with caution)