imagine building this story in your mind, the story itself is not the most important part, more so the time spent on every detail. You imagine its October and you are sitting on the back ledge of your lovers apartment, feet dangling between the railing, with a cigarette in your left hand and a cup of something warm in the right. Imagine making enough dialogue for short film.
Imagine flipping through the four pages that had just been printed, neatly double spaced in bold black print, now imagine taking those sharp cornered four pages, crumbeling them into a mishsappen ball and dropping it carlessly into the trash. I Make It Tough to Write