Zinfandel and White Lilac

After discovering Ron Artest, of the Los Angeles Lakers, had recently filed a petition to change his name to Metta World Peace, my mind started to wander. Metta...meta...Adaptation...blog...I lost The Game.

It occurred to me that this blog may have become legitimate enough for a meta entry. Granting the audience a window into the process behind ShavedGolf. Pulling back the curtain to expose the inner workings of my mental musings and mind mush.

May God have mercy on your soul.

The process starts in a state of vulnerability. Generally an idea will come to me at the most inopportune time: during defecation. To ensure the idea does not escape while on the shitter, I drop everything and duck waddle to the computer to start the fresh composition. As a for instance, I still need to wipe.

Once an idea is hatched and captured, I torture it for days. The idea stews at a low simmer, but as Wednesday approaches, I bring the idea to a rolling boil. Due to procrastination and writer's block, boiling will typically occur only hours away from deadline.

The writing process is much like you imagine it, but more awesomer.

Scented candles and luminescent votives flood the room with fragrance and romance. White lilac stems are hung strategically from my apartment's ceiling to encourage the flow of positive energy. Everyday drab garments are removed and I slip into a lavish kimono made of fine silk and Egyptian cotton. Chi is focused through meditation and hot yoga. A robust and fully matured Zinfandel from Sonoma Valley is uncorked, sipped, and enjoyed. The cares of the day melt away.

Voilà! The masterpiece is written.

After some quick revisions and approval by editors and legal counsel, the product is ready to publish. Like a mother bird delicately encouraging her children out of the nest with loving nudges, my mouse finds the PUBLISH POST button.

My idea is free. The idea that I gave birth to while on the can. The idea that I put through the cerebral pressure cooker. The idea that I brought to maturity through tradition and ritual. It's free. And it's no longer mine. The idea belongs to the world.

Exhale. A long sigh of relief. Exhausted, I retire to my bedchamber with the knowledge that tomorrow the process begins anew.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf