The Rock ‘n’ Roll Writer
By calling, I’m a chanteuse.
I put all my music in my words.
What I cannot say, I write down.
The plot. — It all began with no plan.
No one is more confident than a fool.
Hedonism is the only ism I believe in.
My future rests on the turn of a phrase.
Too many details can ruin a description.
I would tell all if I could I only remember.
She preferred the oral tradition to reading.
I’m off-center mostly for framing purposes.
The first draft offers a maximum of honesty.
Until you put it down on paper, it’s only talk.
She was a blank page, and I was her author.
If I didn’t quote myself, I’d have nothing to say.
The end usually comes shortly after the climax.
The harder I drive, the more I need automation.
The pusher. — If you need a line, I’m your man.
Unlike most folks, I tend to agree with my critics.
The surface says a lot if you know how to read it.
Like frosting, the meaning should be laid on thick.
High times. — When I’m bored, I read dictionaries.
The right riposte is often absent at its time of need.
I’m more prepared for failure than I am for success.
Behind every legend, there is an ingenious promoter.
I’m trying to create a new art form — online stand-up.
You have to keep yourself scarce to stimulate interest.
My agent gets really pissed at me when I strip for free.
No manual can teach you how to create your own style.
Occupational title. — I’m what they call a phraseologist.
Eloquence is like rhythm. Either you have it or you don’t.
The only filmmaking I’ve done so far was in the bedroom.
It’s here somewhere. — I have a dream. I just can’t find it.
I had to orchestrate my rise, but the fall took care of itself.
Poetic capital. — His desperation financed his inspiration.
Post-Modern. — I scribble in streams of unconsciousness.
The robe I wear into the ring reads The One-Line Wonder.
I make my words dance like graceful ballerinas in the nude.
You should only exaggerate that which deserves hyperbole.
What praise slowly builds up, criticism swiftly knocks down.
I was anti-establishment until they gave me a key to the city.
From the solitude of my small studio, I reach out to the world.
Creation is the best high, but it’s not always so easy to score.
The easiest part of writing for me to pick up was the drinking.
The only way to overcome a bad act is with heavy promotion.
I try to limit my exposure by only giving cameo appearances.
Being an author, I highly doubt the validity of recorded events.
Marketing 101. — When the product sucks, resort to gimmicks.
When you’re a playwright, you end up dramatizing everything.
I’m a light tragedy that masquerades around as a dark comedy.
I write mostly for myself, but I must publish to satisfy my mother.
When people start telling you you’re great, it’s hard not to listen.
My ultimate goal is to be the picture hanging on someone’s wall.
Too little, too late. — Posthumous recognition isn’t very gratifying.
The trip to the top is more fun than being on top, said the starlet.
I guess there could be much worse jobs than being a sex symbol.
I wanted to work with my hands, so I decided to become a writer.
When I compare myself to the masters, I feel like a bumbling idiot.
Creature of the night. — Creativity flowers when the censor sleeps.
Good mechanics are useless if they lack the products of invention.
I’m a responsible poet. I only get slightly drunk during composition.
I fell in love with my muse, and then she left me for a richer feeling.
Bought and paid for. — I had to smoke a lot of pot to get this laugh.
Edit with a sober eye what was penned in fits of literary drunkenness.
I need to get famous, so I can reach the next stage of disillusionment.
My tastes are such that I’m often the only person in the movie theatre.
My mission is to do for quotations what Henry Ford did for the automobile.
Forever young. — Even in my mature stage, I never got past adolescence.
If you take out the overkill and self-indulgence, you’re going to ruin my act.
Who said that entertainment was a serious business? I did, but I was joking.
Every time I sit down at my desk and write, I’m actively pursuing my destiny.
Literature owes an invaluable debt to coffee — the rocket fuel of the classics.
And you’re proud of that? — The greatest character I ever created was myself.
I can play any role they throw at me as long as it doesn’t require me to stretch.
The primary lesson experimentation has taught me is to stick with what I know.
I love reading, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I like doing things by the book.
High praise. — My voice coach says I have a lot of soul with only a little training.
I’m the worse thing that’s happened to prose since the invention of the television.
A confessional writer is like a flasher that enjoys displaying his privates in public.
You New York intellectuals might ruminate, but this stump speaker chews the cud.
In a flash, I saw my picture on paperback and found myself in-between the covers.
I’ve tried to switch gears several times, but it seems like I’m stuck in the first person.
I have a surfeit of bravado, just enough to make up for my lack of accomplishments.
Cocaine is not a good drug for people with a preexisting tendency for megalomania.
I’m so caught up in my own legend that I don’t even recognize the loser in the mirror.
Hello and goodbye is naturally dramatic. It’s the second act that requires imagination.
Embellishment enhances a story, just like a turkey tastes better with salt and pepper.
The tried-and-true marketing plan. — The small-town country boy with big-city dreams.
Out of all the possible roles, here I am playing the lead in my own trashy romance novel.
It’s tiring keeping up with all the drunks around me, but I always give it the old college try.
I had to offer the world a rough draft because I don’t think I have a finished product in me.
I started writing the great American novel, but I couldn’t get past the first fucking sentence.
Elizabeth said it took great courage to live as I do. I retorted, “Either that or great stupidity.”
Just an image. — Illumined on a stage burning with passion setting afire the hearts of men.
Metaphorically speaking, some people just don’t hear the music no matter how loud it’s played.
Pulp nonfiction. — No joke. The trees are starting to complain that they’re being typecast as paper.
Don’t mock your own times too much. After all, you’re not making that huge of contribution to them.
My premiums are out of this world because all the insurance companies consider me a moral hazard.
People have accused me of evil maneuvers behind closed doors. I’ve never denied that accusation, partly because I didn’t want to ruin my reputation.
All in. — You’ve got to own yourself even if the risks are high and the investment is unlikely to pan out.
Character development. — Personality will only take you so far. At some point, you have to develop character.
I once met this English gent who told me, “Young man, you can’t go wrong if you write about sex.” I sheepishly replied, “Dear Sir, they say you’re supposed to write about what you know.”
The oldest profession. — Prostitution is the only service where screwing your clients is considered a good thing.
She said she recognized me and then proceeded to inquire, “Aren’t you the guy with a couple classic phrases?”
When I walk by, I want them to say, “There goes JR Dertinger — dramatic pause — master of the short sentence.”
You have to have a hell of a lot of vanity to think your thoughts are worth being put down on paper and published.
With art at the center of my life, I can put up with almost any periphery, including the bums, the junkies, and the hanger-ons.
My only regret is that I wasn’t a musician, and I wouldn’t even regret that if it weren’t for the lack of groupies backstage at my book signings.
Thank you, Willie and Waylon. — I decided to become an outlaw writer because I didn’t want any rules cramping my style.
Strangers appreciate my shows much more than my friends do because they haven’t had to endure the practice performances.
The singing bards. — When reading poetry, always recite the words in tune with the feeling. Don’t forget to pause briefly after each period. It’s the silence in-between the notes where the music is made.
I was going for the feeling of two old college buddies waxing philosophically over a six-pack and a joint.
After sobering up for awhile, you start to remember why you began taking drugs in the first place.
I sought salvation in pleasure only to awaken to find myself in an empty cesspool of welling disappointment and despair.
Trying to figure out the past is like piecing together a drunken night the morning after a blackout. History is the greatest of The Lost Weekends.
It was a tough line to walk, indeed. I had to have enough drug references to satisfy the kids, but not so many as to go and worry my mother.
One of the most difficult parts about being a man of letters is experiencing life and getting it all down at the same time.
An artist’s office never closes. It doesn’t matter if you’re awake or asleep. You’re always open for business.
Ask a young writer what is most important, and he’ll quickly cite passion. Ask an old one, and he’ll slowly whisper discipline.
By the end of the night, if I have produced a couple unique sayings, or even just one, I chalk the day up as a success and retire with a smile on my face.
They might reject me in academic circles, but I hope to grace coffee tables and toilets for generations to come.
The crowd always wants to hear your greatest hits, which isn’t so bad, as long as a couple of them were from your last album.
Hip-Hop Drop. — The masterpieces of the future will be mere snippets and cutouts pieced together in a harmonious blend of rhymes and beats, a new kind of R&B.
Somewhere in a garage. — Everyone who makes it seems to look back fondly on the days when they had no money, no security, and no respect. For those us who haven’t made it, those three things are highly overrated.
I have the career goals of a flower. I want to be cut down at the height of my blossom, stuffed in an elegant vase with some pretty mates, and dumped in the trash when I lose my petals.
One month, you’re on every magazine cover. The next month, you’re in the garbage sharing space with the eggshells and coffee grinds.
Anachronistic analogy. — The smell of an old bookstore is to an author what the aroma of a lived-in kitchen is to a chef.
My late and great friend Isa “The Ion Lion” once told me that there’s a time to make a dollar and a time to make a statement. I innocently inquired, “Why can’t you do both at the same time?”
Fuck the program. — They wanted me to be a little clerk in a big business while I was more attracted to becoming a famous writer in a small world.
There are two classes of people in the world: those who ask for autographs and those who sign them.
The poor and unknown are lucky in that they still possess the hope that riches and fame will one day bring them happiness. The rich and famous don’t have the comfort of such illusions.
Early days. — It’s too early in the game to tell whether I’m going to be a success story or a cautionary tale.
I’ve mastered my role, memorized my lines, and slept with the casting directors. It’s time. Lights, camera, action!