In Episode 2 of A Writerly Night (From the Vault), we dive into Burnin’ Love, a haunting short story from Love, Anyways: Because the Apple Trees Blossom, and explore the emotional architecture of alienation, isolation, and outsiderhood.

This episode examines love not as a singular, romantic truth, but as a multifaceted experience—fractured, refracted, and constantly shifting, like a diamond under a kaleidoscope. We talk about the difference between loving a person and loving an ideal, about asymmetrical devotion, and about the quiet violence of longing without reciprocity.

Through literary analysis and personal reflection, the conversation unfolds around characters who live on the margins—people who exist slightly out of sync with the world, who love deeply but without guarantees. We discuss how isolation can mean more than physical loneliness: it can mean being unseen, unheard, or loving in a language no one else speaks.

This episode is for listeners drawn to literary fiction, existential themes, and honest conversations about love that does not promise healing or closure. If you’ve ever felt like an outsider, mistaken intensity for intimacy, or loved without safety—this space is for you.

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Welcome to the very first episode of A Writerly Night (From the Vault), where we open the dusty archive, uncork the chaos, and immediately set something on fire — metaphorically. Probably. Today, we dive headfirst into Burnin’ Love, the short story that readers keep calling “sweetly devastating,” “psychologically chewy,” and “oh this author needs therapy, but also I loved it.”

In this episode, my co-host, Phuong Dinh, and I settle in with our caffeinated poison of choice and get into the real behind-the-scenes of Burnin’ Love:
– Where the idea came from (spoiler: not from a healthy place)
– Why the protagonist talks like he’s two heartbreaks away from setting the universe ablaze
– How much of my own emotional baggage I accidentally shoved into his mouth
– And whether or not I was actually writing myself into the story… or simply writing the version of myself I’d be if I had fewer boundaries and far more destructive coping mechanisms.

We open the vault on the early drafts — the ones I pretend never existed — and talk about how Burnin' Love wasn’t originally meant to be a “story” so much as a literary scream into the void. A scream with metaphors. A scream with pacing. A scream that somehow became a reader favorite and convinced people I’m emotionally stable enough to keep publishing. Bless their optimism.

You’ll hear us banter about the exact moment inspiration struck (it was 2 AM, naturally), how the title went from a joke to a prophecy, and why the protagonist came out simultaneously tender, chaotic, and dangerously self-aware. We talk about crafting a voice that trembles between longing and self-destruction, and why writing him felt like holding a lighter to the palm — painful, stupid, but illuminating.

And yes, we address the question everyone always asks writers:
“Do you put yourself in your characters?”
I give the only honest answer possible: Maybe. Yes. No. It’s complicated. Please don’t call my therapist.

We unpack the thin, blurry line between author and character — how sometimes you write someone completely unlike you, and sometimes you accidentally write the version of yourself you’re trying very hard to ghost. Burnin’ Love sits exactly at that intersection, where lived experience, artistic instinct, and a dash of delusion all meet for dinner and end up trauma-bonding.

You’ll hear how I built the emotional architecture of the story — the silences, the yearning, the shadowy motivations — and why Burnin’ Love is ultimately about the kind of affection that smolders quietly until someone finally notices the smoke. It’s also about desire, loss, and the terrifying charm of loving someone who could burn you alive without ever striking a match.

We also talk about writing as an act of survival, transformation, and sometimes spite. Especially spite. And how storytelling becomes a way to reframe pain into something beautiful, messy, and slightly unhinged — the good literary kind of unhinged, not the “don’t let this girl near a gas station” kind.

By the end of the episode, you’ll know exactly what Burnin’ Love was meant to say, what surprised even me in the writing process, and why this story continues to haunt readers long after the last line. You’ll also witness me and my co-host derailing into tangents, dragging ourselves lovingly, and celebrating the joy of turning heartbreak into art that refuses to behave.

If you’re here for craft talk, inspiration talk, gossip-from-the-draft-folder talk, or simply want to see two writers spiral constructively, this is your episode.

So grab a drink, dim the lights, and join us for the inaugural descent into the Vault.
It’s Burnin’ Love, baby — let’s set the tone for the chaos to come.