Cut those potatoes into 12 slices, but don't cut all the way through like a critic's opinion of your new book.
Put those potatoes on a plate and cheat. Think of it as giving yourself a little boost. Drink some wine. Put the potato plate in the microwave and nuke them for five minutes.
Think that your next book should feature potatoes, microwaves, and wine.
Celebrate yourself and your idea.
Get aluminum foil and tear it into four big pieces of awesome. Think of each piece as a happy section of your book. Vow to write your next book in sections as you put a potato on the center of each piece of aluminum foil.
Brush the garlic and butter in between the potato slices. DO NOT THINK OF THESE HOLES AS PLOT HOLES! Do not realize suddenly that there are plot holes in your book that just came out today. There aren't. You are just being neurotic, writer!
Step away from your cell phone. Do not call anyone. Big breaths. Focus on potatoes.
Encase those potatoes in the foil so they are all tightly closed in. Look at that! It's a nicely tight plot. No holes! See? Aren't you glad you didn't call or email or panic or anything?
Cook 30 minutes.
Take the potatoes off the grill. Be careful. Open up the packages and put pieces of cheese in between the slices. Your potato will not adhere to itself like a beautiful book narrative.
Wrap them back up.
Put them back on the grill for another five minutes or so.
Celebrate. You've created something great! Season that greatness if you feel like it.
Sometimes you need love. So you heat oil in a large skillet via the heat rank of medium, right?
Watch that oil slowly bubble up the way love does.
When the oil is warm put those mushrooms in there and stir it up. Sure, the mushroom shrink eventually, but look at how they all seem to love each other. A writer's life should be like that, right? Building each other up instead of tearing down. Add a little salt because we are salty people.
Brown those mushrooms, which will take about 10 minutes.
Put some garlic in with the mushrooms and the tiny bit of salty writer personality.
Garlic is the smell of warm nights and memoirs by ladies in their 40s. Look beyond this.
Cook the garlic for 1 minute. Add the sherry and/or red wine. This is the smell of ladies reading other ladies' memoirs and feeling envious. Watch that wine evaporate.
Try to not let your love hopes evaporate. You're a writer and you need love. You also need health care. Sometimes these magical things come together in the form of a spouse with a job that has benefits.
Add chicken stock. Add pepper and salt to taste. Get it warm enough to simmer and then cool things back down like you're in a romantic comedy and you have commitment issues.
Cook about five minutes. It will be a thicker substance, sort of like a writer in a relationship after five years of steady meals and healthcare.
Add cream. Stir. Simmer it for another five. It should get thicker because you're at the 10 minute/year relationship mark and this is to be expected.
Hey! Did you forget about the pasta? MAKE THE PASTA! I know! I know, we were all focused on the sexy, love part of the relationship - the tasty part, but we need structure and a good foundation, too.
Cook the pasta and when it's done, drain it. Don't rinse it. Put it in a bowl.
Go back to your creamy, sexy mushroom mixture and all of those chopped things (tarragon, chives, thyme) and turn off the heat. That's a hard phrase to write when you're talking about love, but trust me and do it.
Stir in the cheese - ½ cup of it Let it melt.
Mix all this up with the pasta. Then use the rest of the cheese and sprinkle it on top to make the Love Pasta look pretty like an Instagram photo.