Writing is like a volcanic explosion that arises from a series of tectonic shifts within the deepest recesses of the soul. It just happens. We can investigate the mechanism, yet the the true inspiration that put the entire chain into motion is unbeknownst to the most awed observer, the most fiery volcano, or even the luscious liquid that lazily oozes out. Trying to force your hands into such an orifice in hopes of capturing the rush of this particular episode results in no more than a brobdingnagian burn and your desi family complaining about your darkening skin tone. But, when you wait, and then wait just a little bit more, you might just get the opportunity to experience something nonpareil, something surreal.
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