This was a weird one. Still is. Much like “You’re Allowed to Order Take-Out” there’s more left unsaid than said. Which people seemed to like. The thing is, and if you read my writing advice last week this will be familiar, it’s never a good thing to get comfortable with one type of writing. Just because something worked once doesn’t mean it’s going to work again, and, in fact, if you try and chase a certain type of writing because it worked so well before you can wind up becomming a parody of yourself. Screw what worked. Move on to the next story.
That being said there’s still a lot of the same mood lingering over me that was there for “You’re Allowed” so if that’s what is there than that’s what is there.
I don’t know.
All I know is I’ve been listening to Bill Withers singing “Ain’t No Sunshine” on repeat for almost the entire creation of this story.