Writing: Is it good for you, too, baby?

I love writing. I should do it more often. Often times, driving home after a long day’s work, I think about my “Next Piece,” how it will move and sway and provocate (that’s not really a word—just go with it), and people will be stirred to comment, and we will think and laugh and grow together. In this world, we inspire one another, we realize our innate prejudices, we expunge ourselves of the refuse of bygone eras laden with traditions of fear. But then I get home, flip open my laptop, and watch my facebook feed deliver me a new candy every minute and a half.

Sometimes I think about thinking about writing, and it’s all very self-indulgent and not that awesome, unless I imagine that my self-indulgence somehow becomes a rocket ship instantaneously reversing course in a vacuum, a miraculous physics-defying Adaptation-esque twist. (Truthfully, I vacillate between thinking that’s one of the greatest and shittiest screenplays ever written, but since that’s part and parcel of what Kaufman wanted me to question, he gets his way, which lends itself to brilliance. Jerk.)

The truth is, finding a subject and writing on point can be difficult. And so, dear reader, you’re my only hope. I propose the following: Give me a mini topic, and I will write about it. 200-500 words, nothing more. And if you want me to return the favor, I will gladly suggest a topic for you and even more gladly read your opus. We can move and sway and provocate ourselves, a veritable hedonist brain commune. Are you in?

Truth be told, this piece was supposed to conclude with some real thoughts on how to extract the benefits of tradition without the Burkean prejudices. But i'm tired now, and my facebook feed has racked up a lot of eye candy...