Oh, I’ve got this grand, sweeping, twisted drama forming in my writer’s brain. I could gorge on the research until my OCD popped (oh my, isn’t that an unpleasant image?).
Anyhow, it would be delicious fun and I could work on it forever. The backstory could unfold in brilliant layers of generations and centuries (à la George R. R. Martin).
Yes, it would be a devilish good time… if only I was a wee-bit saner.
Alas, I and my crazy-heavy brain would tumble into the process headfirst, never to emerge from the sweeping, twisted depths again.
Perhaps it’s for the best.
No popped OCD to scrape off the walls.