It's a well known principle used both by the spiritual and the physically fit.
At the moment it has me worried.
I am, of course, referring to my fictional appetite. While I consistently feed myself a steady stream of Patricia McKillip's beautiful, dream-like prose and Robin McKinley's cool elegance I also have a not-so-secret love of Korean dramas and truly awful B-horror flicks.
What would the marriage of these four bring about? What horrors are waiting to be unleashed through my pen?
I have no illusions as to whether or not my writing is immune to this principle of life. I write what I read / watch / experience. More or less. Everyone does.
So, what do I predict for myself?
Elegantly written, dream-like stories about women who are desperately in love, possibly have a child, but can't marry the man that they are desperately in love with because their families don't approve / old lover shows up but instead of everything ending up alright in the end they're all going to die horribly.
Welcome to my literary career.
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