Emotions get painted on inanimate objects. Books that urge and chairs that weep under the weight of everyone else’s troubles.
How exciting it is to dole out traits to things, to have the last word in how something must behave or react. How thrilling to be able to create a world on your own, to know the nooks and secret trapdoors in a way that no one else can.
Some days writing is all that. Some days it is hard and tiring, like trying to look for something you’ve lost, but in vain.
Some days you write long spaces of crammed words only to trash it in the end with a burning rage of dissatisfaction.
The day, when you write a page, maybe two of something you like, that you’re proud of, that amazes you even if you don’t show it, makes everything up until that point worth it. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two days or twenty, if you create something that makes you happy it’s all that really matters.
How exciting it is to dole out traits to things, to have the last word in how something must behave or react. How thrilling to be able to create a world on your own, to know the nooks and secret trapdoors in a way that no one else can.
Some days writing is all that. Some days it is hard and tiring, like trying to look for something you’ve lost, but in vain.
Some days you write long spaces of crammed words only to trash it in the end with a burning rage of dissatisfaction.
The day, when you write a page, maybe two of something you like, that you’re proud of, that amazes you even if you don’t show it, makes everything up until that point worth it. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two days or twenty, if you create something that makes you happy it’s all that really matters.
No comments:
Post a Comment