Murphictionary...

I've been pondering the nature of control. What is it in our nature that makes us want to grab the reins, to take the wheel, to utter the cliche? And when it comes to writing, is control something you actually want?

In a workshop of a story I wrote recently, there were a lot of questions and suggestions of how to alter and mold it. But the way I wrote it wasn't about control. I thought of the character, and what he said was just what he said, ya know? But then I thought about it a little more, looking past my innate distrust of the revision process. While I still can't even consider trying to control what happens, I think I can work on taking my simple scribbling on to another level. The equivalent of taking a pencil sketch and turning it into a full-color oil painting or of changing position and orientation so as to get a better view of something. We'll see what happens. Hopefully he won't throttle me for making him repeat himself!

}:)

P.S. Otto? WTFF?!?!

P.P.S. For a non-inside joke, I just found a coupon book I got for Burger King. I only have 2 days to eat 47 discounted sandwiches!

Mythocation...

Loafer

Constant chatter swirling sadly
Diving dreamer plunges madly
Biting babies softly nursing
Pulsing currents to and fro-ing
Monkeys shooting pinching furies
Ancients roaming pointless journeys
Lordlings churn releasing might
Yet whales vanish without a fight.

}:)

P.S. I know, I know. What the fuck, right?

Revelationizing....

Coma over...

I emerge from my cocoon and blink new-eyed at the world, my mental transformation in place. The new thoughtways are rough and raw with newness. The old dark channels long for my consciousness. I can't predict what's gonna come of this attempted evolution. But now, I have one thing to go with my quiver of ideas, my sarcasmic armor, my strong sword arm.

I have some hope.

}:)

P.S. Armor piercing smiles are a bitch, ain't they?