Based on a true story.
…I ASSURE YOU it’s dead. Don’t bother looking for a body. How can you find something that doesn’t technically exist?
Where have all the stories gone? Where are the ideas, original and crisp? Fiction, we used to be such good friends. Only days ago we joined forces and concocted brand new characters, devilish plots and filled the screen with the alphabet, rearranged at will, fired by creativity as fingers danced over the keyboard; more tap than break dancing, more tap than Vienesse waltz.
We were good together, me and fiction. No heartbreak involved. No moving out. But things fall apart. We needed to go back to our roots. If we could find them. And we couldn’t. Metaphorical was all they were. Metaphysical is all you are, dying on me every so often, to remind me how special it is to orchestrate new worlds beyond those that we see.
I’ll find you fiction. The phoenix of many ash piles. But for now, editing is killing you – no guns – one logical, syntactic, grammatical page at a time.