And so time marches us ever forward into March, doubtlessly so named since it marks the point at which the year finally stops feeling new. I’m feeling the march of time quite heavily at the moment because my brother and I are juggling the writing and development of three different projects. This isn’t my preferred creative process. Ever since I glumly admitted that the insanely productive author figure in Vargas Llosa’s novel “Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter” was a fiction…