RRRRReasons Squared: Time Sinks, Literary Gestation

I don't think I ever really know what comes of stories until they're actually produced. I wish my process were more spontaneous and carefree, as opposed to a few words at a time, my timidity getting the best of ideal productivity. Caution kills, literarily. It's going back and fixing things in the most exacting manner possible, but generating fearlessly. I have no problem looking like an idiot in life, but somehow on paper I'm in junior high school again.

I'm thinking of putting my indefatigable knowledge of obscure pop music to good use. And I don't mean making more operatic versions of more Blues Travelers songs, although that's not even kind of such a bad idea.

I thought of this when I found myself skipping down First Avenue singing the entire Beauty and the Beast soundtrack after a glass of prosecco. I was not by myself, though. Internet loser admissions part 2345667.

In terms of structure, my idiocy knows no bounds. And discourages me from writing, or finishing writing. I've never been good at arranging. In fact, I'm very bad at arranging. But admitting you're awful at something doesn't mean you shouldn't try really ridiculously hard. I think I haven't followed this rule as much as I'd like.

I feel like this is why collages make such abounding sense to me. I haven't made one in awhile. Probably because they're dumb and for teenage girls. I am proud not to be a teenage girl.

Why hate Valentine's Day? Hate is way too passionate. This holiday calls for indifference, or hanging out with your least favorite friend and sharing a King Kobra. Or even a more average drink. I'm a sucker for little glittery heart-shaped pieces of pink paper, though, and my adoration of candy knows no bounds.

This feels a little more like a livejournal entry than I would prefer.