You Are Less Bret Easton Ellis, and More Paris Hilton Penning a Memoir

by on September 1st, 2010
Share Button

It is funny sometime with the writing community. One day you will have another writer friend that shares your vision, then the next you get too ‘acclaimed’ or whatever and they fly off the deep end and try to discredit your work. Maybe artists shouldn’t be friends, it happens all the time in music, theater, etc.

The good I saw in someone I knew in college is now gone and though last we spoke she saw my work a little hackeyed and claimed that I have neither the skill or silver tongue she possesses as a wordsmith, at least I have matured and am not writing the same boring dribble I did in college.

Back in the day my friend prided herself on winning a contest or two, seeing herself as visionary to the written world. She won a few contests with some sad emo poetry about drugs used, boys that didn’t take interest in her, and a world too cruel for her twisted mind- some bought into that and published a few poems. Then later in life she took to the net writing the same sad sap on a website that might be among the most hated things out there besides the kiddie porn sites. At nearly thirty, she’s still writing about drugs taken, boys that won’t sleep with her, things that really shouldn’t matter to the adult mind. Subjects that should have matured over time but didn’t. When you are thirty you are less Bret Easton Ellis and more Paris Hilton penning a memoir. It’s really really sad. And yet this same self titled authoress tells me that I have not a talented bone in my body, that I am a bottom feeder of the written world because I do journalism and have a radio show. That I am just a want to be because I don’t want to be too bloated to leave the couch where she crushes up her pretty pills and photographs them on her website like its some sort of artwork.

I have said if that is her goal to be a true artist, she fails miserably at the attempt. I have reported some of her drug creation pictures on Facebook before unfriending her, wishing sometimes there was a way to get that horrible site taken off the internet before it convinces someones children that taken drugs is cool and the gateway to popularity. It makes me mad that someone could be using the little bit of influence they may have in the world to do something so negative and predatory that just reading a few passages from this filthy rag she passed off as a book could seep poison into your very being. This isn’t art, its every after of the True Hollywood Story of someone you find in a hotel room face down in their own vomit after ingesting Gods know what, hoping they will be remembered for all the times they wrote about their masturbation habits. Her own uncle wrote a letter once to the site mail bag calling her a spoiled drug addict that used this site to seek the attention that she claimed to never get as a child.

To each their own, but I choose the highroad.

I look at my connection with her as the road I could have gone down if I wasn’t a strong enough person to not get sucked into the bullshit of the faux popularity and the dark underworld of drug abuse. I am happy with the choices I have made. So call me a sell out if you will that I write drugs are bad or other recent findings. At least I make a honest dollar in a career that may inspire or change the thoughts of someone. At least my family isn’t shamed by the nonsense I write.

Meeting someone like you changed my life, it is true. Thank you for making me who I am, and by that I mean not you.


Prev Article: »
Next Article: «

Related Articles