Recently I got the idea to write a novella, a work of fiction based entirely on thought. To write is to become a metaphor. Will I be fanciful, ornamental and magical? I don’t know where to begin…To write is to become God…When you read me, you kill me as the death of the author. There is a monster moving my hand … Every stroke is a metaphysical ellipse. Words become scattered like fangs. Thought becomes submerged in an eclipse. Ideas bang their heads on the wall. I will create an end: ode to a hyperbole in the suspension of belief…a requiem where a voice speaks to a wreath, a synesthetic trope. I am writing now….fanciful, ornamental and picturesque.