These stories have become my indulgence in escapism, and an antidote for doomerism.

Water likes to take the path of least resistance, and when I’m stuck with a bad case of writer's block, finding that path of least resistance helps.

Something as simple as a format, theme, or adherence to style can not only provide a jumping off point to get that curser moving, but I have found that it actually gives me room to be inventive in a substantive way. If nothing else, it provides a false, reminiscent whisper of my teenage rebellion. What’s more motivating than that?

Poetry offers one answer: fragmentation. If I have gaps in my memory of the event, I can leave the gaps in the poem with white space, enjambment, or incomplete sentences.