Fanny and the Unclean Ideas.
Here’s something I wrote the other night as I was laying around in bed:
¬†¬†¬† Fanny was concerned about the scurrilousness of her ideas.¬† Whenever she had a brainstorm, it appeared suddenly, a title or premise she was excited about.¬† Then as minutes went by, she started to feel ashamed.¬† A violent, scatalogical potboiler called I DEFECATE IN YOUR MOTHER’S MILK was one thing to think about when you were walking down the aisle at the bookstore, but what if you really wrote it?¬† What would people say?¬† How would they look at you afterward?¬† How would your parents feel?¬† You could use a pseudonym to protect yourself, but then nobody would know you were a writer.¬† What was the use of that?