MrPixel
Just a Regular Guy
- Joined
- May 12, 2020
- Posts
- 5,234
A couple of mentions of Mary Jane in another AH thread got my mind churning about my own experiences with pot and alcohol, and any relationship either or both might have to my writing. Alcohol first.
I'm not Ernest Hemingway (imagine that!). The words don't flow well when I'm buzzed, which isn't all that often. Conversely, and especially when my wife and I are dining out, about halfway through my margarita I start talking about my writing, and the characters' most recent exploits. We have fun talking about it, and she digs at me sometimes asking, "What's Cyan up to these days?", this being the character mostly based on her. Anyway, on those rare moments I have a late-evening toddy to wind down from the day, I try to write and then get to untangle most of it in the morning.
Pot? Not here. No interest. I guess we're both turned off by how complicated "just rolling a joint" has become. Too many choices. "We" is appropriate, as she's an ex-hippie, VW vans and all.
However, my one experience with MJ 40 years ago provides inspiration from time to time. A bunch of ladies from our theater troupe convinced me to tag along on a camping trip to a coastal island with no road access - just a passenger ferry. Just me, and six 20-something women. One of them peeled me off for a walk down the beach, and we found a sheltered spot in the dunes. She pulls out a doobie, lights up, and after a couple of puffs hands it to me. We're back and forth with it.
In retrospect I can easily discern what she was after. But what was I feeling? The whole world went into slow motion. I couldn't do anything more but stare at the waves against the sand. We (she) gave up, and we stroll back towards the campground, only to be stopped by the rest of the group frolicking in the waves, naked. We stripped off to join them, but I was too stoned to do anything. But, oh, what could have been.
That experience remains inspiration for my current writings about a harem, basically, with the MMC at the center. The memory in my sunset years also provides a "huh... I was always like that" understanding that with one exception I never "hung" with guys. Even going back to junior high I was all about the girls, and my writing reflects that. The one encounter with pot just brings that into focus... unlike where I was that particular afternoon.
I'm not Ernest Hemingway (imagine that!). The words don't flow well when I'm buzzed, which isn't all that often. Conversely, and especially when my wife and I are dining out, about halfway through my margarita I start talking about my writing, and the characters' most recent exploits. We have fun talking about it, and she digs at me sometimes asking, "What's Cyan up to these days?", this being the character mostly based on her. Anyway, on those rare moments I have a late-evening toddy to wind down from the day, I try to write and then get to untangle most of it in the morning.
Pot? Not here. No interest. I guess we're both turned off by how complicated "just rolling a joint" has become. Too many choices. "We" is appropriate, as she's an ex-hippie, VW vans and all.
However, my one experience with MJ 40 years ago provides inspiration from time to time. A bunch of ladies from our theater troupe convinced me to tag along on a camping trip to a coastal island with no road access - just a passenger ferry. Just me, and six 20-something women. One of them peeled me off for a walk down the beach, and we found a sheltered spot in the dunes. She pulls out a doobie, lights up, and after a couple of puffs hands it to me. We're back and forth with it.
In retrospect I can easily discern what she was after. But what was I feeling? The whole world went into slow motion. I couldn't do anything more but stare at the waves against the sand. We (she) gave up, and we stroll back towards the campground, only to be stopped by the rest of the group frolicking in the waves, naked. We stripped off to join them, but I was too stoned to do anything. But, oh, what could have been.
That experience remains inspiration for my current writings about a harem, basically, with the MMC at the center. The memory in my sunset years also provides a "huh... I was always like that" understanding that with one exception I never "hung" with guys. Even going back to junior high I was all about the girls, and my writing reflects that. The one encounter with pot just brings that into focus... unlike where I was that particular afternoon.