Yesterday, as I was working on my current project, I realized how much this story is chomping at the bit to get onto the page. I felt almost stressed that I don’t know enough at this point, in order to write it. For the first time in my life, I am aware of the impatience of the creative impulse; that being mortal, and in need of dinner breaks and sleep, I am a slow learner!
“My working method has more often than not involved the subtraction of weight. I have tried to remove weight, sometimes from people, sometimes from heavenly bodies, sometimes from cities; above all I have tried to remove weight from the structure of stories and from language.” – Italo Calvino
It shows how badly I keep up with literature that I visited Melissa Marr’s website and discovered Wislawa Szymborska.
Time retains its sacred right
to meddle in each earthly affair.
Still, time’s unbound power
that makes a mountain crumble,
moves seas, rotates a star,
won’t be enough to tear lovers apart: they are
too naked, too embraced
too much like timid sparrows.
I’ve been reflecting on the difference between writers and artists. Mostly artists are in interested in the process even they’re impatient to finish their work. While writers are mostly interested in writing “The End” (with a sigh of relief) on the final revision. I saw a Constable exhibition in London a few years ago. Many of his studies were like finished paintings. I’ve started to wonder whether multiple drafts are similar to preparatory studies for large scale paintings.
