Love With a Wild Fucking Abandon, or, Why Consuming As Much As I Can is Good for My Writing, aka BOO! to the Cult of Originality

I used to be the type of person who wouldn’t read fiction if I was writing short stories, and I felt like I couldn’t listen to music if I was writing poetry. I would avoid consuming things that were similar to the things I wanted to create for fear of stealing–but let’s be real, for fear of not being original. My avoidance morphed into a slightly dangerous depression; a gelatinous, effervescent menace that simultaneously convinced me that there was no audience for the things I wanted to create, yet just buoyant enough to convince me that at least I was …

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