Sometimes I write things, and then I read them over (a few minutes, or days, or months later), and my response is, “What in God’s name was I talking about?”
Here is one such recent example:
“I definitely believe in the world; on balance, I think it’s a good thing. And I am into fellowship as well. I like nature, or at least I like certain aspects of nature, like flowers and shooting stars and naturally-occurring Fibonacci sequences.”
Here is another, unrelated one:
“Whoever said history was boring knew nothing about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.”
When I don’t feel like cooking dinner– which is, let’s face it, most of the time– or when I come home too hungry to waste ten minutes boiling water, I like to dine on a slew of breakfast foods. This evening, for example, I ate a banana, followed by a bowl of Corn Chex, and now I am heating up a breakfast chicken sausage. As far as I am concerned, this is potassium followed by calcium followed by protein– and I cooked it all in less than a minute!
Once I wanted to have a brunch and serve exclusively food products involving cereals. Like Rice Krispie treats, granola bars, maybe Poptarts (do Poptarts count?). I didn’t do it– instead I like bought some bagels and orange juice– but I still have fond visions of what a delicious party this would be.
I spend a lot of time thinking of horrific titles for my second book. For example, I’m really enthused about the idea of calling it Anachronism. What do you think? A hilarious YA novel about friendship and love called Anachronism, by Leila Sales. It just jumps off the page, doesn’t it?
Barring that, I now keep telling my friends that I’m going to entitle it Authentic. And they look really pained, and maybe a tiny bit terrified, like they can’t tell if I have no taste, or if I’m just bad at sarcasm, or what.
I was recently describing my “writing process” to a friend. In case you were wondering, my “writing process” is that I sit down at my computer with a big bag of Nastle Toll House Semi-Sweet Morsels, and I shove them in my mouth whenever I can’t think of what to write, and I continue to do this until I become so hyped up on sugar– or so sick to my stomach– that I have to call it quits.
When I said this to my friend, he asked, “How are you not 300 pounds overweight, if that’s your writing process?”
And I was like, “Well, it helps that I only write like twice a week.”
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