Notes on Writing, Short Story: You're Allowed to Order Takeout

Whoo-boy

I’ve pretty much got nothing for this week’s story.  I still feel pretty lousy, and I’m having a hard time concentrating and the Superbowl is on.  So this is awesome.

I mean, I’ve got a little something in mind about a dad and his son, but it’s not much.  And I’m really really running out of time, so I’m thinking this is going to be a smaller literary piece, more like Private Showing than anything.  And it’s going to be short.  I hope.  I don’t really have control over that.  Not as much as I’d like.  Anyway, I haven’t done any straight writing in awhile.  I always set out to write straight literature as best I can, just good strong writing and simple characters, but next thing I know I’ve got zombie knife fights and wormholes and god knows what else going on.  Writing is a very strange process.  Fact is, I’m learning, that the simpler stories take more out of you.  Trying to write a heartbreaking love story can drain you more than the most complex plot.  Unless you try and write a heartbreaking love story with a complex plot.  But that’s just silly.

Right.  So something light and simple is coming…I hope.

And I’m utterly underwhelmed by these Superbowl ads.

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