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Someone asked me once where my stories come from. It’s quite simple, really. I sit in front of my computer with
a cup of coffee on one side and a stack of classical music compact disks on the other. I stretch a few times, take
a deep breath and let it out. And then I light some candles and fall to my knees uttering a prayer in Latin at which
point the ceiling bursts open and I’m emblazoned by blinding lights and deafened by a choir of angels singing and
put my name on it.
See? Anybody can do it. The only problem is I don’t make a whole lot of money. Roof repairs, you know.
Aaron Steinmetz © 2006
a cup of coffee on one side and a stack of classical music compact disks on the other. I stretch a few times, take
a deep breath and let it out. And then I light some candles and fall to my knees uttering a prayer in Latin at which
point the ceiling bursts open and I’m emblazoned by blinding lights and deafened by a choir of angels singing and
put my name on it.
See? Anybody can do it. The only problem is I don’t make a whole lot of money. Roof repairs, you know.
Aaron Steinmetz © 2006
The Writing Process
| This work by Aaron Steinmetz is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. |