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The horse's purple fur
I dream up fanciful concepts, such as a three-gendered biology, a priesthood of polyandrists, an orbit of forbidden stars, and then I become mired in the 'why' of such a situation. There is a strong penchant for world-building in me, and I cannot just make the horse-like creature have purple fur without asking the question of why such a beast would evolve like that. I think there is a deep logical beauty in uncovering and answering such questions. We are weaving a tapestry when we create a story, and every strand comes from somewhere, and leads somewhere else. To throw too many random strands together would lead to something inelegant, and monstrously clumsy.

I always want to know more about the interconnectivity of all things. How does radioactive stardust affect the earthworm, what does the courtesan's fan have to do with the wearing away of the Rocks of Gilbralter? The idea of a vacuum is preposterous, and chaos is merely a pattern that we do not yet recognize. There is such a rich bounty to be had by seeking those patterns out, making a dance of your own celestial spheres. Every 'eureka' is a victory to me.

In terms of being a writer, it can be somewhat burdensome - this passion to map every mote of dust on its journey through the story. There are some beautiful moments that are so because of the haunting unknowability, that they simply are. I forget that at times, so blinded by my mission to created an infinitely unified whole. And so nothing is written, no story is told, while I try to work out the details of the horse's purple fur.