http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-unprotected-life
"I write because writing is the hardest work I’ve ever done. It is slow and painstaking and frustrating. I do not begin with an idea or a theme, and I don’t make outlines. I don’t have a plan for the ending or, usually, for the next page or the next line. Even short pieces might take shape over years. Everything that I have ever seen, done, or felt, had, shared, or lost, is in play, and the word of the day is, on most days, confusion."
2 comments:
Damn, thought it's like possessed by creativity, you just sit at the keyboard at midnight and bang out a masterpiece by early morning. Very demoralising.
But, I didn't write this!
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