I have always been an editor.
Other people's words have always been my element, the river water that I can sieve for hidden particles of gold. But in the depths of my own writing, I have been worn down into a restless miner. The same quality that makes me an exacting editor for others makes it a daily challenge for me to compose things fluently and honestly from and for myself. I edit as I write--for every half a sentence ahead, I delete two clauses behind. Confidence shifts like the shoreline.
Though I cannot believe in an easy external fix (the problem starts and ends in my own head) I have decided to purchase an old manual typewriter as a way to encourage writing first, editing later. My instincts will be inked and I will have to press the keys forcefully, with conviction.
Thoughts like these have recently altered my conceptions of quality and patience.
It took way to long to write this.
No comments:
Post a Comment