Kesha, in church.
The Rockies, in first place. Me, saying, “hey, not so much cheese.” They’re all things that don’t seem to go together. Or if they did, there might be a rip in the universe. No one wants that.
A rip in the universe is worse than a fissure in a gas tank or a tear in your parachute pants (You 80s kids hear me.)
All three, though, are like elements in my writing process. They don’t always make sense. Let’s take a break from inside of my skull today, shall we? Let’s just outline the wacky series of events that make up my writing process.
Just a dad ... 