(no subject)

So, normally, writing is an excruciating process for me. Normally, I get an idea, and it flourishes in my brain until it is so gorgeous and vivid in my mind that my efforts to actually explain it are like drunken monkeys trying to interpret Mozart. It just doesn't work. If I actually am able to get it out, it's usually in spurts over a few hours and then I spend another like, twelve hours trying to figure out a title.

Today? Story hits me, I write it down, and the title comes to me like, fifteen minutes after I was done. Bada bing bada boom. I actually IMed Hannah all weirded out because I don't think that process has ever gone through that quickly. Maybe the key is that there were no romantic feelings at all? There was like, angst and that was it, no messy entanglements or reasons for me to be like D: I have to write euphemistic sex now! Instead, give me something light- you know, like Caprica's miscarriage and I'm golden! I am so strange.