Every time I reach for the full-fat Greek yogurt, apply honey and add the nuts and fruit, that food-conscious part of me screams about the fat and enjoys the "good" parts. In deconstructing this automatic reaction to all things enjoyable about food, it struck me today that we tend to do the same thing with writing.
Given the freedom to write anything we want, to start a story with "It was a dark and stormy night," or to write around the edges into the center of the paper, many writers will cringe and back away from such heresy.
Admit it, both food and writing have been pared down to the point that all joy in eating or storytelling is a guilty pleasure at best, or something we just do for the nutrients.
So the word today is "food" for thought, for sustenance and the color of everything we have denied ourselves in order to fit in.