Writing Boots

I’m going to try to watch and live-blog the State of the Union address tonight without drugs, but President Trump already said, “It’s going to be a long speech, because we have so much to talk about.”

(Reminding me of onetime Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison, who interrupted himself during a 6,200-word oration by saying, “And on that I’m going to ask people serve lunch, because I’ve got a lot to get through here. I’ve got a lot to share. So bring on the lunch: enjoy.”)

So, no promises.

This morning I reminded my wife about the SOTU tonight and she said, “I don’t know if I can do it.”

I reminded her that she has said that exact thing maybe 25 out of the 30-ish State of the Union speeches our marriage has endured. I reminded her that I did not begrudge her this instinct and further noted that I only watch for professional reasons and even those are dubious. I think the back door closed somewhere in the middle of that.

Anyway: Speech starts at 9:00 EST tonight. I’ll be on here around 8:00.

A few million published words into our career, we don’t believe too much in the romance of around writing. But sometimes you do have to appreciate a young Hunter S. Thompson at work in his Nash Rambler in the Northern California woods with a cigarette in his mouth and a Schlitz tallboy on the front seat. You have to figure out whatever he wrote there was just a little better for this setting.