Enthusiasm kills a story like an overdose.  Write it in one sitting, two at the most.  Don’t let it linger, building itself up in your mind, pretending to already be what it might be with a focused creator and three good quiet hours.   Don’t listen to Glen Hansard then try to evoke emotion on the page.  The emotion’s in his voice.  Listen to T-Pain (My girl got a big old booty).  Get your mind all hyped up.  Don’t place the words so lightly on the page.  Fling them  with abandon. Rip them up.  Go again.

Always.  Almost always.  This is how you sleep.

You could sleep through a hurricane, an earthquake, an apocalypse.

You’ll be waking up after we’ve all turned to zombies.

I might try to eat you.  I’m so sorry about that.

(Cash is a terrible poet, a beggar, an unforgiving king.  He wrote this…)

I am king, you blue thing with yarn for hair.  You are my jester.  When you squeak, I come running, panting, licking my chops as all kings do.

Now I’ve had enough of your jokes, your mocking smile. The time has come–

I will kill you today.

You will bleed white polyester, my maid will clean you up and I will feast on your squeaking, plastic heart.