Why Doesn't Robert Downey Jr. Have a Book Deal?
If you're like most overworked urbanites or desperate stay-at-home moms, you likely got hammered last night, drinking with your friendly enablers or in the secrecy of your bathroom. And you may be an incredibly talented writer but, like, so hungover, dude, and so no publisher gives a shit about your drunk tank dramatics. All that matters is whether or not you got clean and if you did so with the appropriate amount of grit, determination and self-deprecation — then you can qualify for the white-hot Rehab Memoir, and join the ranks of James Frey (pre-fabrication), Augusten Burroughs, David Carr, Kitty Dukakis, Bill Moyers and, the focus of today's article in the Observer, former Page Sixer Tom Sykes.
You know what we want? A memoir from someone who's still fucked up. Enough with the clarity of sobriety; give us nonsensical pages of drunken rambling and garbled prose that looks like it should've been written in crayon. Tales of bloody noses written on vomit-flecked pages! Yes! The guy who's still drunk at this very moment, at 8 AM on a Wednesday? He's the one who should have the book deals.
Basically, we want Chris Wilson to get to work.
