The Structure of a story

Every so often I have an urge to write something to submit to This American Life -- not out of any real passion for the show, mind, because I don't really care for it that much. That is to say, it's a fantastic show and when I listen to it, I love it, but I go through phases with it where it's like the spinach that Mom served with the steak. You'd eat it because it was good for you and she'd make dark comments about bowel movements and fiber if you didn't, and these aren't things you really want to hear when you're trying to eat your dinner or breakfast or, you know, trying to hang out with your friends in your own house. The thing with Mom: she was persistent with the leftovers that she thought were good for you. The dinner rolls and the rare pieces of dessert would disappear like a heartbeat if you got distracted and started looking around the kitchen instead of focusing on your plate, but if you didn't eat those brussel sprouts, whoa nelly. They'd be your recurring friends for breakfast, lunch, and dinner again and again, day after day, until you managed to find some kind of smothering agent like mayonnaise or wasabi that would utterly emasculate the odor and taste of the damn things so you could choke them down.

...wait. What was I talking about again?

Oh. Right. This American Life. Every so often I go visit the show's page and read the links off of it, and listen to the shows. When I'm not in my spinach phase, I have a lot of fun and I think about submitting something to the show. Then I finish reading the links and realize that I do none of the things that make the shows stories interesting. I resolve to change that. Next time, I decide, I will write a story with a point! A moral! A universal theme! It will flow, progress, and carry the reader to a satisfying conclusion!

And then something shiny passes my line of sight and I've forgotten all about it until the next time I develop an odd craving for spinach.

There is no point to this, really, beyond the fact that I'm feeling vaguely creative at the moment, and don't have the energy to expend on anything that would satisfy that craving. I'm like a dog with itchy balls in a lampshade collar.

There's an image that'll haunt you.