It's A Big World, And I Really

If You Understand Writing As Primarily Engaging An Imaginary Reader, Well, You've Kind Of Been Doing That Your Whole Life. You Walk Into A Room And You're Engaging With Imaginary Strangers Because You Don't Actually Know Who They Are. For Me, It Was Really Empowering To Say: This Is A Branch Of Entertainment And Communication And Engagement, As Opposed To Jumping Over Some Perceived Literary High Bar. That Was The Buzzkill.

Twitter Is A Deliberate Abstention. Somehow I Hate The Idea Of There Always Being, In The Back Of My Mind, This Little Voice Saying: 'oh, I Should Tweet About This.'

I'm Not Sure I Would Call It Agony But There Is A Kind Of Cyclic Frustration. You Get One Story Right And Then Here Comes Another One. When Does That End? What I'm Trying To Do Is Get It To End Right Now, By Recognizing That That Cycle Is Writing. That Is: Trying To Understand The Frustrations And Setbacks (and Agony) As Part Of A Bigger Chess Game You Are Playing With Art Itself.

A Sort Of Fearlessness - The Notion That A Person Could Be Comfortable With (even Interested In) Whatever Arises. I Sure Can't Do It, But I Think All Of Us Have Had Little Glimpse Of That Power, Often When We Are Really Actively Loving Someone Or Something And Feel That Little Eradication Of Self That Happens When We Are Engaged In Feeling Protective Or Especially Fond Of Someone Else. I Associate That Feeling With A Corresponding Clarity Of Purpose And A Disappearance Of Confusion.

[writing] Is Almost Like Those Boats That Sit Really Low In The Water; They Look Kind Of Ugly. And Then You Get One Of Them Up To 80 Miles An Hour And The Hull Comes Up, And It's A Beautiful Thing. I'm Okay With That For Myself.