act one, scene v Melissa's Head
in her head, Melissa conjures a silent soliloquy, accompanied by a tasteful round of applause, as she saunters onto a spotlit stage, Chablis in hand, squinting into the darkness at her feet.
in her head, Melissa conjures a silent soliloquy, accompanied by a tasteful round of applause, as she saunters onto a spotlit stage, Chablis in hand, squinting into the darkness at her feet.
"Writing & Wine: Brother's from Other Mothers"
Good writing is like fine wine.
Is it robust and round, sensual with heavy notes?
Is it floral and light, delicate, dancing on your tongue?
Or is it cheap and sharp, something in a pretty bottle masquerading as something it's not, flaunting it's screw cap? Something that will do in a pinch?
We all need to just get drunk once in awhile, but on the regular?
Is it robust and round, sensual with heavy notes?
Is it floral and light, delicate, dancing on your tongue?
Or is it cheap and sharp, something in a pretty bottle masquerading as something it's not, flaunting it's screw cap? Something that will do in a pinch?
We all need to just get drunk once in awhile, but on the regular?
Wouldn't you rather sit down with a glass of Italian Chianti that's had some time to breathe, than to chug an Arbor Mist and pass out in front of the television, inevitably forgetting what happened between the moment you set cup to lips and the moment your forced your eyes open to a sugary sweet headache blanching your vision and your throat crying out for water because it's just so stale and dry... a product of it's environment, perhaps?
*Note: this may or may not have been inspired by someones bad writing. You know, the kind that leaves you with an Arbor Mist-kind of headache. #justsaying
*Note: this may or may not have been inspired by someones bad writing. You know, the kind that leaves you with an Arbor Mist-kind of headache. #justsaying
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