"Have you ever noticed that every interaction between us reminds me of one of those movies from the 40s?" He looks at me puzzled. "Seriously, it's like you're very forceful with me, you're the man, you know what's best, I try to thwart your advances, you overtake me anyways." He gets a self-satisfied grin, and nods "Oh yeah."
"Well, knock it off, you don't get to win today." I tell him matter-of-factly.
"Are you sure?" he says to me, grabbing me around the waist and squeezing me so hard I swear one of my ribs is going to break.
"Well, if you break my spine, nobody's going to be happy."

I keep getting random story ideas, random thought processes, random spurts of writing. I write in such a haphazard way. I realized this when talking about the writing process with a friend. He has high aspirations to write novels, informative books, etc. One day at his house quite a while ago I grabbed one of his yellow pads off the couch and started to peruse it while he was in the bathroom. He came back out, snatched it out of my hand and told me I couldn't read it. But he relented anyways. He's driven by ego and I think he was proud of what he'd started. It was a labyrinth of plot points, an outline, a cohesive, organized idea pattern. I told him I couldn't even fathom writing like that. I can't. Why? Because sometimes its like I'm channeling something else. I can't explain it, its like watching a movie, I have some control over where its going to go but conversations and ideas flow really organically. I just sit there and it goes around and around in my head. I could stand some outlining though, I have some mildly entertaining excerpts but no real congealed story. He was almost envious.

Maybe I should start working harder at making a plot outline... yes, odd (read: fucked up) stories drive the book and the reader... but it needs to fill a format and leave a person with a sense of a beginning, a middle, an end.

Work work work.