One can not retire without accomplishment, nor inspire without confidence.

Given the opportunity, a million monkeys typing would produce not Shakespeare but a furied plea in fits and starts, scattered amongst the brilliant, in a language based in the click of the keys as opposed to the letters they form. Perhaps lush forest floors’d provide the Rosetta Stone, or Mozart’s masterpieces a dictionary of what each plastic push should emote. The point being: this act is not random. All lit. is the smoke of whirring engines, the ozone of blown fuses, the near failure but final relief of internal struggle spilling onto parchment. And this despite objectivity.

I describe this fully understanding the postmodern cliche of writing about writing, the optimistic analyses is that the subject has become so "large" that it must build a model of itself, or at the very least periodically clean cobwebs out of the corners. And in my other hand is the defense that I've lately been ascribing previous TV time to real, tangible writing projects that will at the very least serve as indestructible tablets to prove my existence.
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I've devised a system for prewriting long projects that I think is going to allow for precise organization of a complex novel I've been working on for over a year now. I've been using my nascent abilities in HTML to piece together note documents using extensive hyperlinks. It doesn't require the internet but rather uses the concept to provide a quick reference between pages. For instance, a chapter document (documenting all of the events, setting, characters, etc). Within the note text are links to character sketches, reference documents and tagged passages of other relevant chapters. I don't claim to be professional, but I can assure a budding writer that approaching larger projects with an eye on precise organization will be to their benefit. And I must say I finally feel like literature could catch up with the times.

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The other day, in our basement, we found abox of the personal affects of the previous occupant. Letters, postcards from foreign countries, the occasional still photo of various anonyms in generalizd settings. To dig thru these items, only several decades short of being artifacts, tested all stereotypes and matched any cinema in the fullness of the individual's character. Hunches from one scrap of paper were confirmed eventually; characters would reappear in familiar hand writing to update us on things that happened several years later.Here is what we've surmised: Ricky Izzarat was a Hispanic of indeterminate origin. He spent his formative years in Daytona Beach, Florida. He was abused by his parents. Eventually, Ricky went to college at the University of Washington in Seattle, WA. It is indeterminate whether this was before or after a stint of living in New York. It is also indeterminate when Ricky decided to come out as a homosexual. He had a career with Boeing Aircraft as of 13 years ago. He had a male friend that was constantly concerned about his own weight. he attended late-night parties in NYC that tailored to gay men. He was involved in an HIV vaccine trial sometime between 1989-1991. There is likely more to be gleaned from this pile, I'm thinking of working it into a sort of project. Arranging items chronologically as well as in a fashion that answers questions soon after they are asked and presents the arc of his life, there is definitely enough material.