It's a miracle how affection seeps into the heart. That bloody piece of meat, all suddenly sensitized from mere function into feeling. No longer a thermodynamic machinery, but an instrument throbbing, wildly or softly, to a music of exquisite quality.
If you're a writer (especially if you are the type to wear it like a toga), you must be prepared to have your personality defined by it. Every behaviour you exhibit, every action you take, every word you say or don't say will be viewed as a consequence of your ability to write.
I know so well but forget so often that the second draft is where the real writing gets done.
I labor through the first draft. I labor through the doubt, through the urge to just delete everything, but when I get to the second draft, it starts to make sense.
dangerous cos it deludes me into thinking the curtains can't close unless the character has played his part to the point of resolution. & hopeful cos of the very same reason: that regardless of plot twists, the curtains can't close until the character reaches the end of the story
i romanticize my life. i romanticize my suffering. I magnify my joy when i can. i symbolize. i often find myself thinking i'm the main character in a plot designed just for me. i like to think the plot has an arc: a premise which has already been established, a phase of conflict—
—which i'm currently living, and a resolution lurking ahead — a resolution that ties everything back to the beginning.
but i sometimes worry that i'm only a subplot, a character written in 3rd-person in another person's story. i think it's dangerous & hopeful at the same time.