You know, sometimes I begin writing a post and it just unfolds like a bolt of cloth at Hancock Fabrics, and I think, “I’m not trying to write a book here.” But directions lead to other directions and before you know it my egg’s turned into an omelette. It’s like that with fiction sometimes, too. I want to write a story about a subject I’m interested in, and in the beginning it seems like a really simple idea. And then it goes omelette on me.
Writing Omelettes
You know, sometimes I begin writing a post and it just unfolds like a bolt of cloth at Hancock Fabrics, and I think, “I’m not trying to write a book here.” But directions lead to other directions and before you know it my egg’s turned into an omelette. It’s like that with fiction sometimes, too. I want to write a story about a subject I’m interested in, and in the beginning it seems like a really simple idea. And then it goes omelette on me.
Sometimes I just want to fry an egg.
By the way, isn’t “omelette” a really odd word?
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