Raviwowr!
There are several story ideas that seem good, fresh, and at times even revolutionary when one is in the throes of a good glass of brandy. Yet, sobered up, or even after a different drink, that idea seems a distant blob of emotion to tap into. Or simply put, that mood though easy to create in theory, in practice seems difficult to pull off: cause one shouldn’t mix drinks. What one is left with then is a faint echo of an idea that bores into the skull like an earworm, insistent upon being explored. A transient odour of the thought that muddles the brain, trying its best to flash the correct neurons, for smells are the most powerful memory-joggers. But that idea had its trusses constructed on an overflow of feelings. Which was it? The emptiness in my heart? The anger in every sinew and fibre? The unbound love for my friends? If only there was an easy Ctrl+C-Ctrl+V for this. Perhaps it is a mixture, or perhaps statistically speaking, I can take a meas