On Writing
Brande says to write first thing in the morning. She says to write before reading anything, before thinking about anything. To wake up and then immediately sit down to put those first thoughts down on page. That last sentence was an incomplete sentence. I'm suppose to ignore that too.
There are many stories I have in my mind to write. I just don't have the motivation. It seems silly to even try. How am I suppose to communicate these strange image-thoughts? I believe in the power of language, but language can only works as hard as you do. Your language is only as sophisticated as your mind is.
My mind is not a sophisticated mind. My mind is a very female-ish one. Double XX-es are inscribed on the brain tissue. It's true, I promise. If you peeled back my face then took a hammer to the pink skull it'd crack open and expose scarlet poppies underneath. What person wants to read words saturated in poppies' blood?
I wish I didn't write so many interrogative sentences. What's the point of an interrogative sentence anyway? It's not as though I'll wait to hear your answer. And really, that's assuming that there's even a you out there to hear my question. It's seems pathetic.
That last sentence came from the poppy field nestled in Wernicke's area. They shed their XX seeds all over my language. It's bothersome.
A male minded author is more direct. The male minded use bleach and dirt intermittently in their language. They use the bleach to purify, to strip an idea down to its most basic components and then, having created that pure thought, they rub in the mud. The mud is what we call style.
I'd rather have mud than flowers.