Here at HTG (Hold the Glimmer…see how I did that…we already have an abbreviation!!!), we have an interest in keeping you entertained, maybe even mildly amused.  While there has yet to be and most likely never will be a rhyme or reason to any of this blogosphere madness, we are genuinely interested in making this site a worthwhile click in your day.  In the last few weeks, we’ve realized there may be more than 4 regular readers, and while that’s close to the most awesome thing I’ve ever experienced, it also scares the shit out of me for two reasons: 1.You may actually enjoy the site, meaning I have to follow through with commitments and write, and 2. Well…ok..so there is only one reason.  But, I’m a people pleaser.  Do you see how well this relationship is working out already?  We have every intention of keeping this site awesome, and welcome any and all feedback, comments, knock knock jokes, even a little inspiration at holdtheglimmer@gmail.com, not to mention- we’re on that twitter thing @holdtheglimmer! And with that, Hold the Glimmer has the distinguished honor to introduce you to one of the finest degenerates Los Angeles has to offer, my good friend and HTG’s new feature writer, Duke.  Hold your applause, please.

     It seems like every great author started off composing stories about drunken struggling writers – themselves.  Hemmingway, Bukowski, Thompson – drunk, drunker, and druggie – all started out writing about how lost in the world they were as failed journalists and story tellers.  No wonder I identify with these degenerates so well… as a drunken struggler, I also fancy myself a writer, or at least someone with the gift of linguistic artistry.  But a writer without a topic is like a painter without a picture in his head or a naked muse on his couch – he’s just another alcoholic.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s no shortage of subject matter on which to pontificate these days…  Our political discourse is crumbling.  Our international relations are falling apart.  Our heroes are dead or making GAP commercials.  The prospect of finding true love in our society is about as real as Charlie Sheen’s respect for women.  And, it seems like the Earth is trying to swallow us whole after years of getting raped and abused by the big dick of industrialization.  Jesus H. W. Christmas, are you as depressed as I am yet?  No wonder there’s nothing to write about – every time I try to put a pen to a paper I have to go searching for a tissue!  I start off thinking to myself, “tonight I’ll have a drink and do some writing.”  Then a drink turns into four or five… I watch the news for some inspiration… lose all hope; take an ambien and go to sleep. 

 Then, one morning, a dear friend asks me to write a piece for her blog.  No problem, right?  Well half a day’s work goes by (the day goes by, not the work, it’s still there) and it finally occurs to me!  I bitch about not writing because I don’t have the inspiration.  So, I’ll start where my drunken forefathers started – with the struggle.  See, the only real difference between someone striving to write (me), and a normal person, is that a normal person doesn’t feel the need to make excuses or hate himself for not writing.  In the last year, I’ve written as much as this cup of tea I’m drinking.  That kills me inside, because I know I have the ability.  I look at the world around me and note some astute observations, but just as soon as I think I have a grasp on some concept, my point alludes me and I’m back to staring at three dots at the end of a sentence…

That’s when you search the bottom of your scotch glass for a quick tangent.  Speaking of which, The Flintstones WAS Liz Taylor’s last movie (or as far as I’ve seen, her only movie).

My favorite part of telling people I’m a writer though (fuck you, don’t judge me – sometimes you have to lie to be interesting) is when they ask me, “What do you write?”  I usually say children’s books about drug safety and proper usage of profanity.  Then when they settle their feigned outrage, I admit that I just scribble philosophical musings and fiery political rants on the back of cocktail napkins and TPS Reports.  Hey, I may not have a strong audience, but right now it’s more about keeping sane than about getting published. 

I guess it’s not so much that I’m a writer, at this point I most certainly am not.  I’m more like an observer of life and the world.  Sometimes those observations amount to lengthy pieces I aspire to turn into articles and books… and other times they sum up to a twelve word status update that nobody comments on (assholes).  The point, if there was one, is that – no matter what keeps you up at night, be it lack of creativity or the presence of strong drink – we all start out with the struggle.  And this is where mine begins…

(Glimmer- held.)