May I always approach writing with a stillness, a gentle contentment so fragile that it might whoosh away at any moment, carried away by the passion of my characters. May I always remember to laugh and to have them laugh too; to glory in the ridiculous as well as the joyful. May I never forget that what I do is beautiful, that I pull design from the nether, and weave it into something that can be enjoyed. May I always treasure every laugh that is brought by my words, every tear that is wrung from another's eye. May I infuse every letter with yearning, the yearning to be understood, to feel what I am feeling, and to thrust my hand into my reader's chest and pull out a still-beating heart.
May I always appreciate every day that I am alive, because it is another day that I have a chance to make something beautiful.
“The imitator dooms himself to hopeless mediocrity. The inventor did it, because it was natural to him, and so in him it has a charm. In the imitator, something else is natural, and he bereaves himself of his own beauty, to come short of another man's.” Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Cluttered Mind
So I haven't written in a while. In the meantime, the ideas has been taking up space in my mind, stacked in piles that are starting to impinge on one another. They keep getting mixed up, and I know I need to get them out. I've been trying to finish the novel, so I haven't had time to write about them. I'm going to list them down, so I can get back to them when I get a chance. And to give me a little breathing room!
- Why are people attracted to brokenness?
- Why do I find myself inexplicably attracted to characters with an unflinchingly lawful good alignment, even those who have traded any modicum of rationality to be true to that morality? I am reminded of the fate of Rorschach, and I worry that there is no truth in them.
- Why is it that my husband can have a far more practical view of humanity than I, and while I don't feel repulsed by that in him, I feel like my entire existence would cease if I allowed myself to believe the same?
- Why do people want unequal love? Am I the only one who sees that the yearning, pining bullshit that people perceive as love is really nothing of the kind? And if they do realize it's not love, then what is it that people want when they submerge themselves in that fantasy?
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