Good morning and welcome back to the trenches. Again, this is not a book, this is a blog showing the process of writing a book, so if you get all faint at the sight of unfolded edges not yet perfectly tucked into hospital corners and all, I suggest you check your ticket to make sure you’re on the right flight. Because me? I like things at the imperfect stage, because perfection is the enemy of interesting.
Okay the last I left you I was stuck with one foot in the real world and the other in the quagmire of Family Law World. It’s a shitty balancing act, but if you’re a parent dealing with an abusive ex who loves the court system, you better learn to juggle and never drop any balls.
Okay, let me stop here to describe the state of my industry at the time. The Print Industry was now my sole source of income because I’d taken a prolonged leave from the airline where I worked. I did this because, believe it or not, it had been presented to a family-law judge that my stable job of 14 years with one of the best companies in the country was somehow [Read more…]
Welcome back. This is a writing process – it’s like the alleyway behind the fancy restaurant, where the dishwashers gather to smoke spleefs and drunk wedding guests bang each other by the dumpster. You’re welcome to hang out and see what happens, you can comment, you can witness, you can share, but don’t interrupt me by telling me what you’d rather read. Especially don’t tell me 
Hi, welcome back to my writing room. It ain’t pretty or perfect, but you’re welcome to hang out to watch the process. Just don’t tell me not to be angry, because I don’t buy that shit that we shouldn’t be angry. And don’t tell me not to air my dirty laundry, because I’ll air whatever the fuck I feel like airing. And whatever you do, don’t 
Welcome back to my writers room! This is the making of a book, people, it’s rough and unpolished right now, and you’re welcome to look in on the process, just don’t expect me to stop and circumcise everything so it’s pretty enough to put in your mouth. Okay, lately I have been pounding home the fact that for six years I paid child support to a man who didn’t have full custody of our child. That is a fact. And many of you wonder how that could happen. If you are a veteran family-law attorney, you know that weird shit like this happens in family court all the time. That’s because family court isn’t held to the same legal auspice as regular court. Also, divorcing parents are all seen as bickering idiots wasting the judge’s time whenever a custody case actually gets before a judge. Judges are important people, people, and God forbid your case ever actually demands they take time away 
Good morning! Welcome to my war zone. You are witnessing the writing of a book. It’s in the mud mask, curlers and Spanx phase of getting ready for the big date. In short, it’s not pretty, but this is my bathroom mirror, get your own if you don’t like what you’re looking at. So back to Grant Henry (that’s right, I haven’t forgotten about you, motherfucker.)
Morning! Welcome Hollis Gillespie’s writing engine! I am the conductor of this clackity fuck bucket and it might look like I’m steering this thing all over the goddam place but I have a destination and I’ll take you there if you want to jump on board, just don’t ask me to make special stops or leave the wheel to come chase the chickens and goats out of your cabin. Today I’m in Miami because the pax counts to NYC were impossible and some FB friends said Miami had some good thrift stores. Miami flights, it turned out, had tons of seats on them. (Thanks, Zika!) For those of you who don’t know, I fly standby, a perk left over from my many years as a scullery plebe for the airlines.
Morning! Let’s get back on the warhorse, shall we? And don’t grab the reigns or bitch that it’s rickety, it will get where it needs to be in its own time (and it won’t end up where you think it will). Okay, lately I’ve been pointing out that my book, Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch is 
Welcome to Hollis Gillespie’s writers war room! There will be atrocities committed and plenty of collateral damage, so put on your fucking helmet because I’m not slowing down to hold your fucking hand. Okay. Reminder: Sister Louisa is not a person or an artist, but a product, brand, business, and series of pretentious hipster-encrusted black holes that passes as a bar franchise in the state of Georgia. Grant Henry, the rich-ass proprietor of said sinkholes, is arguably a person but also a PUBLIC FIGURE.
Welcome to my writer’s war room. It’s ugly, vicious, unfinished and if you like things all perfect and symmetrical I suggest you take a tour of a fake-tit factory. Me, I like flaws. I consider perfection the enemy of interesting. Now, back to the shit tsunami that was my life the year after my first book, 
Welcome to my writing war zone. Keep your fucking arms and legs inside the car, don’t stand up, and whatever you do don’t try to take the fucking wheel. This is my rattle trap and I’ll be the one driving it to the finish line. Okay, so my cat Biscuit wakes me up in the morning sometimes by repeatedly kissing me on my nose. I try to ignore him, push him away, fall back to sleep, but Biscuit won’t let up, you know why? Because the door to my bedroom is closed and Biscuit needs to get out of my room to reach the litter box. See? He needs something from me, and this is how he gets it, by interrupting my groove until I’m like, “Holy crap, fine! I’m up, I’m doing it.” Then once I’m up I might as well, you know, make coffee, get dressed, copulate with the yard boy