I just went to my friend’s concert and as I was listening to
him play, I thought about writing (per usual). If I had to write a story in the
half hour that I was there, what would I write about? (As a disclaimer I would
like to include the fact that I had recently finished my article and so was
still in the crazy journalistic mode where all I can think about is
writingwritingwritingwriting.) There was a game on the television, the bands
strumming along on the stage, the odd-looking teenagers playing pool. Any of
those could be the subject of an article or several articles depending on what
angle you use.
Once
you get in the mode of constantly thinking about what you could write an
article about, it becomes addicting. Everything is a possible topic and your
mind becomes a whirlwind of interviews, word counts, inverted pyramids and
delayed leads. For instance when we were driving back from the concert, I was
still pondering all of this.
Cue
paragraph of intensely profound reflection.
As
the car makes its way through the streets of Boston, I realized something: the
world is pretty damn huge. There’s so many people to meet, so many places to
go, so many things to see. There should be no shortage of stories to write.
Just in this one city there are endless possibilities. The past, the present,
the future. An ongoing string of time. An ongoing string of consciousness.
Everything existing all at once.
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