I suppose beginnings are hard but endings are harder. Creating worlds is hard but destroying them is harder. When success and failure don't hang in the balance, words come easily, they flow, like water when unstoppered.
Sometimes there is a crassness to storytelling that I dislike, but occasionally there is a true elegance to it, a naturalness, a rhythm. Conversations appear out of thin air, description unfolds as gentle as a brook, and the story develops without effort.
Other times the words weigh heavy, the structure bulky and ugly. Why did I write such a miserable sentence? But that soon fades and the cycle begins again, love and then strife. I suppose that is the way with most things, anyway.
YOU ARE READING
ECSTASY
Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
