It's late.

So, I can't sleep, so instead I'm blogging. Weird, right? Anyway. The following was originally written to be a response to a post Mrs. Tolstoy (http://unwaveringthunder.blogspot.com/) wrote a while back about writing. In particular, I was stricken by how Mrs. Tolstoy criticized the Twilight series.

I agree that Stephenie Meyer isn't the *best* writer ever. In fact, it's hard for me to not take a red pen to her books. And certainly, whoever edits her stuff should be shot (seriously, she meant "past" but wrote "passed".). But I've come to find that the Twilight books aren't about the writing. It's about the story itself. Maybe I'm not a writer because I've only ever felt remotely connected to maybe two things I've ever written. But, and maybe it's just for me, but the story that is present, the modern-day fairytaleness of the whole thing, is beautiful and achingly romantic and drives me to tears.

What does that have to do with this evening's post? Well, see, nothing. Except that I've had this GREAT idea for a story cooking in my head. And tonight I was reading a book (What I Saw and How I Lied) that made me question my idea for my story. Which is better: historic fiction that requires much outside research, or modern fiction that is the crutch for most modern writers? Either way, I'd be losing. It would never get published, surely, but I'm not aiming for that. I'm aiming for something that people will read and connect with, even if they don't think they will. I'll write a full post on Twilight or writing or whatever if anyone wants. But that's not the point. The point is that... well, I lost my train of thought and don't know what the point was. I'm tired. I just want to sleep. Stupid writerness keeping me up when I have a 9 a.m. class tomorrow. Whatever.

Peace, love, and ginger cat cookies.