I mostly subscribe to the school of writing that says the intent is the scaffolding for the story and one should let it speak for itself. Nevertheless, perhaps a good middle ground is to give a sketch here in the comments since you ask:
This post is inspired by three things: first, a fascination with the Oulipian school of writing, whereby extraordinary (and often mathematical) constraints are imposed to produce extraordinary creativity. Second, a meditation on the illusion of transparency, and how much can be said between the lines or lost in translation. Finally, a long-term effort (of which this is a sliver) to restore to myself a naive aesthetics (see also this post), to the tune of My Favorite Things.
I mostly subscribe to the school of writing that says the intent is the scaffolding for the story and one should let it speak for itself. Nevertheless, perhaps a good middle ground is to give a sketch here in the comments since you ask:
This post is inspired by three things: first, a fascination with the Oulipian school of writing, whereby extraordinary (and often mathematical) constraints are imposed to produce extraordinary creativity. Second, a meditation on the illusion of transparency, and how much can be said between the lines or lost in translation. Finally, a long-term effort (of which this is a sliver) to restore to myself a naive aesthetics (see also this post), to the tune of My Favorite Things.