I saw a play tonight that did everything that I had wanted to accomplish with Love Me Dead.
It blew me away. The writing was so perfect, the characters perfectly imperfect, and the structure so very non existent. Wonderful. I can't help but feel a little jealous that she did so much in those 75 minutes of glorious complex vague words, but I also know that the writer probably has had more life experience than I have ever. So I guess that part makes sense. At least if we're going to believe the mantra of writing what you know.
And yet, I'm currently writing a zombie movie.
Which doesn't fit with that theory.
What is life but a bunch of theories to be explored?