Why is it that so much of the talk surrounding writing is based in death? Kill your darlings, write what you know (maybe this one is personal), write like your parents are dead…
And now? Write like you are dead…
I got pissed this morning and wrote up a serious blog post. But writing it made me unpissed, took the wind out of my knickers, so I’m not wasting time typing that up. (At least not today. I’ll wait until it’s a non-issue that the world has moved on from, and then I’ll toss it out there for everyone to see.)
Just know this, I hate YouTube Kids and the internet is poison and nobody should use it. Except for my blog. All of you should read my blog.
With that, let us away on another glorious installment of Quoth the Raven.
Scene: You’re at a circus/carnival, surrounded by circus/carnival sights and sounds. The laughter of children, the rattle of the roller coaster, the ding ding ding of someone stronger than you winning that hammer game, disorienting flashing lights, crowds, and… what’s that? A red nose? Rudolph? No, worse, it’s a clown.
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