There's piles of crap everywhere. World War Z, empty contact lenses boxes, a stained coffee cup, paper clips, a microfiber rag, an iPad, an iPhone, two opened and humming laptops. If writing looks like anything it looks like a crisis. At any given time emails and DM's are flying back and forth and this morning is no different; I'm making inquiries, seeking advice, setting appointments, venting. Something hit me a couple of weeks ago: the force of it prompted me to try to figure out a metaphor. Maybe being hit by a baseball thrown by Clark Kent in Smallville; it took its time getting here, but wham when it did. Simple, really; take the thing you're known for, blow it up,
then
rebuild it,
redefine it
and everything it represented.
I almost feel stupid for not thinking of this sooner. Almost. If it happened all the time it'd be rote, not inspiration. The notebook I set aside for this is filling up rapidly. Idea. Idea. Idea. Idea.
