Somebody found my blog by typing in sexy girls wanting to f--k in Dalton Georgia. Dude, I've been to Dalton, Georgia, and I didn't see any of those chicks around.
Already backsliding on my New Years' resolutions to lose weight and work harder. I ate a big-ass pice of my wife's homemade Baked Alaska last night and washed it down with chocolate milk while staring at my computer screen. All my words on the page just looked like pebbles on a beach. The last time I was in a bit of a slump I stumbled across a William Goldman book and the rust flaked right off. I trolled the shelves again, looking for inspiration. I looked at pictures of Russian pop stars and read an article in a magazine about the Korean film industry. I looked at a big grim graphic novel from Humanoids Publishing. I looked at a book about comic books in VietNam. Somebody left a copy of a working screenplay to CALENDAR GIRLS, with pencil marks and different colored pages and all, in my office mailbox and I thumbed through it. I looked through a Bob Dylan biography. He was saying that when he thought his career was over he heard a woodpecker outside his window and knew that as long as he was alive he would be interested in something. Words to live by. Now to get the wheels turning again.
Give me a yell at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.
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