Thursday, March 19, 2015

Love like breathing

It is glorious to have found the part of a draft when it feels easy because bits of it grow together—all those idea previously rooted reach for each other—and there's an ecosystem on the verge of being.

It's the moment before the middle, when it all goes a little wild and I have to fight it into shape for the end. A moment of flow. A perfect afternoon, all green and good, that smells like spring.

Because in these moments, there's nothing but love for a story. Love like breathing. It's so easy to do, so easy that I forget all the times it felt difficult. Forget why I put the story aside. Forget what ever made me think it wouldn't, one day, be finished.

And it doesn't matter if it's good, because it's fun and the making-it-better can happen when it's time for it to happen.

Story, you're so weird. Weird wrapped around truth and full of things I love. We're going to have a conversation, you and I. One I don't share with other people.

It's not about a fish, but its playlist is full of dangerous bass. And I am so fiercely protective of the way I love it like breathing.

I forgot writing could be like this; I know the feeling doesn't stay. Because craft takes effort and time and focus. It's not unconscious. The time will come when I'll have to apply that conscious force to take something-ok-with-moments-of-good to great and then better.

But this week, for now, it's all reaching shoots. Growing tall, fast, strong.

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