I Miss You; I Guess That I Should

Today on my walk home I thought about all the things one forgets during a Cleveland winter.

The way the sun feels on bare arms. That people occasionally wear bright colors. How green the grass is, so green, and all the connotations that come with that, like looking down the history of all hope.

That girls can wear skirts for aesthetic and not religious reasons. Good god. I don't think there's any feeling quite as sexy in the entire world as feeling the wind press a flowy skirt against my shins and thighs, knowing that that vague outline is more revealing than tramping around with no pants on.

I've been making an effort lately to start dressing in an older manner. I'm not sure if this comes from lack of income (it takes a lot of money to be trendy, you know) or if I'm just tired of my ho-bag nymphomaniac image and looking to start over. I feel older, if that makes any sense--I feel as though I'm finally growing up, that I might not be internally stuck at seventeen forever.

It strikes me once more, as it always does when I have a middling good idea for a book, that I have no idea how this "writing" thing is actually done. Do I make a laundry list of things I like in other works and see if any of those fit? Do I just start writing and chuck things in as I go? Do I start with the end in mind? How do I keep my mind on task long enough to actually get anything done? Is there any way to save a good idea implemented poorly?