plot twist: maury is the father.

interrobang-ler:

how to be a writer

• start to write something
• pause and read over what you have so far
• cringe
• backspace everything
• exit out of your computer
• cry on the floor

(Source: jaclcfrost)

i actually think about this 100 percent of the time. i realize it’s irrational but i can’t help it.

i always think about food and car accidents. here’s the scene. you come out of the drive-thru. god knows what you ordered. maybe a strawberry milkshake, maybe nachos, maybe chinese food. whatever. but you come out of the drive-thru with your food tucked into the passenger seat.

picture yourself driving home and then all of a sudden you get into a car accident. picture yourself unconscious. unresponsive. picture the police arriving. fire trucks. an ambulance. collision investigation. you could live. your body could be shattered beyond belief. you could be dead. but remember that food you ordered? picture that sweet, pink, pepto-bismol goop of a milkshake smeared against your dashboard and windshield. maybe it’s all over your glasses. a blind spot. or those nachos. chips and cheese everywhere. salsa mixes with your blood. unrecognizable. or let’s say you got chinese food. chow-mein hangs throughout the car like leftover streamers of a new year’s eve party popper. limp noodles stick to your face. lounge about your ear. intertwine with the steering wheel. terriyaki sauce on the airbag. whatever the meal, the scene has been defiled. instead of the smell of burnt rubber, or fire, or smoke, there is the lingering aroma of cheap fast-food. the accident almost seems like a joke. it’s not as serious. the food has made a mockery of you.