This is a hilarious article about novelists that drink. I’m not even mad. Those of you that know me know that I’ve been prone to drink a good bit of red wine in my day. That might be an understatement. Let’s just say my arteries will never clog if wine is as good for your heart as they say (I realize they temper statements like that for winos like me, so that I don’t use it as an excuse to drink…ehhh, whatever). This article compares William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald to the Paris and Britney of their day. What a beautiful thought. I’m sure they are rolling over in their graves. Or floating around in a coffin full of booze.
I totally get them on the idea that a lot of good writers are such drunks. I have a lot to say when I drink. The grammar right not be as accurate, but I sure am hilarious! (At least I think that, and that’s all that matters.) Plenty of my college buddies wrote papers while drinking. Really ups the word count, and let’s be honest, most of the time that’s what a drunk college kid is looking for in their literary masterpiece that they’ve put off an entire semester until the night before. Maybe I’ll just become a writer. Then I won’t have to go to AA.