Today I was working on a short magazine piece when it happened: fully formed sentences poured from my head onto the page via my fingertips.
I didn't stop to question it. I just kept typing, knowing that moments like this are a gift; and that, if you want to show your appreciation for the gift, you should type first, critique later. (Or, to use a different type of analogy, great sex shouldn't be put dissected and analyzed at the peak of passion. Neither should great writing.)
It's all about going with the flow, in writing as in life: relinquishing some of that creativity-blocking control in favor of enjoying a totally unscripted ride -- just seeing where the words will take you.
I didn't stop to question it. I just kept typing, knowing that moments like this are a gift; and that, if you want to show your appreciation for the gift, you should type first, critique later. (Or, to use a different type of analogy, great sex shouldn't be put dissected and analyzed at the peak of passion. Neither should great writing.)
It's all about going with the flow, in writing as in life: relinquishing some of that creativity-blocking control in favor of enjoying a totally unscripted ride -- just seeing where the words will take you.
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