clef and coda

One of my resolutions for the new year will be “I will not wrestle with fiction anymore.” Ain’t doing it. If a story becomes recalcitrant, back in the file it goes and it can sit there until it grows mushrooms, for all I care. I’ve got plenty of other fictions to write; no need to wrestle with angels. That doesn’t mean if I run into a spot of trouble, I’ll drop the story. When the fictive dream is simply not ready to be written, when it needs more simmer time, more ripening, when I realize there’s no writing through, there’s only absolute creative paralysis, smoke and ashes floating in the air.

When is it ready? When I hear its voice. Things won’t go as smoothly as I’d like, the words may scamper and hide, but the voice will be there and then I’ll write. No voice, no story, no wrestling.


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