Working in the word yard

 Conducted a little experiment last night. Something along the lines of "write drunk, edit sober"

I'm still analyzing the results. I'd written four pages of a romantic short story (a first for me) a day ago. It was a mess. Lots of nuggets, but in deep shit. 

Last night I altered my chemistry significantly and had another run at the task. 

My usually spazzy scribbling became scrupulously semi-Palmer. The Lizard brain never forgets! The mechanical act of writing was entrancing. The results remind me of how we used to write in seventh grade, changing colored ballpoint pens every other line. Pink, light blue, apple green, and purple, flourishes abounding. 

Once I got over the sillys, I wrote four pages of dialogue without any tags. It has a Moonlighting feel, with all the tension and teasing. A phone conversation stemming from a wrong number. 

Ever do that? They sure did. 

Now I have to sit with these pages, shuffle the deck and see what blooms.