I suspect that our lives’ twists and turns, as gut-wrenching as they may seem, may really not be that big a deal.  And perhaps the exhausting, weighty entirety of life is meant to hammer in that light and carefree axiom. To me, that cosmically ironic premise has the ring of truth to it.

Attune to that divine, heroic frequency; the one that recognizes our creaturely trappings and uses them to manifest godly wonders of the imagination.

The literary structure of a story is like the strong, silent skeleton of a house; those bones will help to prop your tale in place.  But without the daring curves and eye-dazzling splashes born from style, that house lays squat and dark, stolid and forgotten.   Writing must be understood, but even more than that, it must…

Go so deep into your story that you realize it’s a parallel reality, one among many.  That’s when it writes itself.  But first, you have to be willing to go deep. (watch out for madness)

Chew thought carefully, hone spirit diligently, and realizations drip onto the page like jeweled blades.

I think life may resemble most peoples 20s:  Sit down, have a drink, a good time, and then sleep it off.  Do it again. The next time around, the majority will find a nicer bar.  The (lucky?) ones with a lower tolerance will find a fulfilling calling.