Our Stories Are What We

As A Writer, My Main Objective Is To Tell The Story Urgently - As If Whispering It Into One Ear - And To Know The Characters Intimately.

Our Imaginations Are Strong As Children. Sometimes They Get Shoved Aside, These Imaginations. They Get Dusty And Mildewed With Age. The Imagination Is A Muscle That Has To Be Put To Use Or It Shrivels.

First, You Hand Over Some Basics-overwhelming Joy, Existential Angst, A Giving-in To Desire, Etc. And Then You Promise To Withstand Talking Idly About The Weather, To Encourage Cliché, To Uphold The Virtues Of Average. You Hand Over The Need To Be Understood And, In Return, You Get A Bar Of Normal Soap. And You Can Wash In It And Be Daily Reborn To A Safe World Of Modest, Enduring Love Or, At Least, Mild, Well-mannered Bonding.

Are There Books About Us Or Something?” This Makes Pressia Angry - The Idea That This World Is A Subject Of Study, A Story, Instead Of Filled With Real People, Trying To Survive.

The Poem Has To Bear The Weight With Image, Language... The Screenplay With Dialogue, Plot.