On Writing
There have been several attempts at developing stories of wonder and tragedy throughout my life. At first, the stories were variations on the fictions I would consume in the popular media. Kids entering a haunted house only to be butchered. A magical cave of knowledge and life, lions and serpents. Lover’s love among a jarring apocalypse. These are only the stories that I remember. Then, in short, life came along to shake things up. Looking back, the original characters were things that only a child could enthusiastically conceive of – ideal or demonic caricatures of good and evil. But now, things are different. So what should writing be for me? What kind of material suits me? I think the answer to this is simple. Let’s just do it , and see. On a bright, sunny afternoon, Carla waltzed into the foyer of The Ritz-Carlton with the pomp of a queen and the grace of a dancer. The moment she strode in the door, she flushed with pride as she felt a dozen eyes turn and gaze her way. Chi