Are you back? Okay. Enjoy...
MY CAKE CAN BEAT UP ANTON'S CAKE!
Isn't it glorious? Ganache makes everything better.
When the League invited me to guest blog, I wasn't sure I was up to their standards of wacky hijinks and sound writerly advice, so I came prepared with bribes...cake (see above) and booze. (Just wait. It'll come.)
I had some nebulous theme when I started writing about brain food, and replenishing your resources for Serious Artistic Creation with things like reality TV and cheap liquor. But that went out the window fairly fast, as I am in the middle of the Rewrite From Hell and all higher brain functions consist of "Bzuh?"
In addition to the guest-blog requisites of rambling incoherently and never quite reaching a point, I think I'm supposed to talk about my new release, Night Life. I ate a LOT of chocolate when I was writing Night Life. And watched a ton of trashy movies. Now we will leave this topic, never to revisit it again. Requirement fulfilled.
What I think I was trying to convey is: Ideas can come from all over. That's why I don't worry too much about what sort of diet I feed my brain. Sure, 16 episodes of Project Runway in a row will leave me with the ill-advised plan to write a horror novella about Fashion Week (entitled Cthulhu Couture, wherein H.P. Lovecraft, risen from the dead, casts off his strict moral stance on sex and homosexuality and becomes the darling of the high fashion world with his tentacle-inspired line. Not to mention his Shoggoth boots, which Lindsay Lohan turns into an overnight sensation when she strides up the red carpet on her new, surgically enhanced quad feet on her way to I Know Who Killed Me 2: The Full Monty.)
In case you were wondering what my particular brand of crazy needs to write the books that come from my wild idea-getting brain-replenishing TV marathons (and you know you were), I need an array of cultural sources, some highbrow and some low (and some that are directed by Michael Bay.) I need music playing, somewhere comfortable to sit and a laptop that weighs as little as possible. And I need drinks. (See, I told you I brought booze.)
Two paragraphs of rambling. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Okay, okay. The drinks. I'm getting there, dudes.
Here, for the first time anywhere on the intertubes, my personal recipe for the trendiest trendy-bitch cocktails with a writerly themes in existence. Because I love you. And the humiliating sounds you make when you throw up in the gutter.
A heart-stopping concoction guaranteed to keep you awake--and hammered--for three straight days. You don't need that editorial extension! Or to blink!
3 shots espresso, chilled.
1 oz Bailey's
1 oz Godiva Chocolate Liquer
1 oz cream.
Mix, serve over ice if desired. Make a double and serve it in a coffee mug.
Your book has landed on The List! Can a coke habit and a sex tape be far behind? Get your diva on with a drink designed for pouring over the heads of paparazzi everywhere.
2 oz. cranberry juice
1 oz. Chambord
2 oz Absolut Limon
1 oz. sprite or ginger ale
Shake well, serve in a fancy oversized martini glass, watch drinker get completely hammered, take embarrassing blackmail shot.
It's bitter. Like your soul.
3 oz. tequila
2 oz. fresh-squeezed lemon juice
Mix and serve. Cry.
Send any and all drunken emails to caitlinkittredge [at] gmail [dot] com. Or visit my web site for excerpts, blogs and more at www.caitlinkittredge.com.