Booze, Guns and Writing
by Raymond M. Coulombe

The Gonzo is dead, long live the Gonzo.

By now, everyone knows that Hunter S. Thompson did a Hemingway. Eulogies have been written by every writer who claims to have known him. I did not know Hunter, but I do know booze and guns.

I'm bothered by writers who off themselves with guns. By now the troubled suicidal alcoholic author is a worn and tired cliché. Let's give it a rest. Do something original for an author: live to a very decrepit old age. . .

. . . like the Pope. Now there's a role model. He's not afraid to go down that long entropy road, shedding parts and bodily functions along the way. That's the way to exit: long slow and messy. Think of the fun you'll have scaring little children.

But back to booze and guns. Now there was more to Hunter than booze and guns, but since I have limited drug experience compared to Hunter, I'll stick with what I know. I believe it was Heinlein who warned about the danger of mixing guns with booze: You might shoot at someone and miss. Guns are serious business. Well . . . to be honest, not always, no. There's a lot of laughter out on the shooting range.

Every read a really bad book and burning it just wasn't enough? Try shooting it with a variety of weapons, 30-06 deer rifles, 9mm hand guns, .45 caliber, even shot guns and semiautomatic .22 rifles and hand guns; whatever you happen to have lying around. Once the book has been reduced to a pulp where no fragment contains more than three words, burn the remains and stir the ashes. Satisfying.

Then put the guns away and open a bottle of very fine single malt scotch. Reflect on how no matter how bad your life gets, you did not write that unholy piece of crap. Oh . . . what if you did write that piece of crap? Then reflect on how you managed to get it published anyway. Either way, drink up. Either way, no sense getting bummed about it. Laugh a little.

Writers have a history of being a particularly depressed lot. There are some damn fine reasons too. There's rarely been any money it, and it's getting worse, not better. In spite of that, we have to write, as it's a sickness and there's nothing for it. We see the truth and truth can be one cold heartless bitch. There is only one way to tell the truth these days, and that's in fiction.

Which brings me back to Hunter. He knew the best way to tell the truth was to put a little fiction into the mix. So that's how an editor of a speculative fiction zine can salute a gonzo journalist. In a weird twisted sort of way, he was one of us.

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