The draft for my editor is almost ready. I’ll need the weekend to finish it, but we’re almost there.
As a result, I really don’t have anything to say here.
Other than this, haha!
Writing is a privilege. I am lucky in my life that I have the inclination, and the time, to write. Many others who would like to, have not been able to. Many stories have been lost, untold. I am grateful to have had the time, and the opportunity to write. To tell another story, and not leave it untold.
There is great pleasure in writing, great satisfaction. If I didn’t get a certain singular high from writing that I get from no other activity, then maybe I wouldn’t be so drawn to it. But crafting words to represent thoughts, and to sometimes feel that you have in fact lasso’d the moon, captured a thought entire, is an incredible rush. You may look later at that same sentence and feel like the moon slipped its mooring again and escaped you, but you still had that flash as you wrote, and sometimes, just sometimes, when you look back at what you put down on paper, you see the moon still there, glowing. Maybe only for you, maybe no-one else will get it, but even as a solipsistic exercise in expressing something to youself, it had worth, because it is bloody hard to make the ephemeral tangible. And that’s what writing is for me, and it is awesome in the real sense of that word.
I’m going on. Bed calls. Another long day tomorrow.
Fare you all very well.