“Writing allows even a stupid person to seem halfway intelligent, if only that person will write the same thought over and over again, improving it just a little bit each time. It is a lot like inflating a blimp with a bicycle pump. Anybody can do it. All it takes is time.”
I can tell time.
I interpret sun dials.
I have the ability to translate hands on a face.
“I have spent a good many years…being ashamed of what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction or poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent.”
What do you really want to do when you grow up?
How will you make money?
What else are you going to do today?
“The good thing about writing fiction is that you can get back at people. I’ve gotten back at lawyers, prosecutors, judges, law professors and politicians. I just line ’em up and shoot ’em.”
I have to go find my sharpshooter keyboard.
My jump drive needs reloading.
I’m putting my ideas into action.
“The most solid advice…for a writer is this, I think. Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat it, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”
There are other souls in this room, helping my pen along.
My thoughts breathe in my next sentence; the end is so close I can taste it.
Damnit! This process is exhausting…I’m dead tired but will still dream.