I spent most of the summer writing short fiction. Really, it was an experiment writing. I was to write a story a week. I did do this, and now the 'final' story of the summer sits at my desk, and I think it is my best.
As one continues to write, and write a great deal, certain steams of thought and narrative flow(s) reveal themselves. This is not a flashy way of saying I repeat myself. No, I think it is the realization that we have, as writers, certain strata in our psyches (or selves, or personae) and that this is the root level of where our material comes.
One must be true to these levels, and work them as you would anything that requires work. The form is there, one just give it substance.
And of course there are various resistances that shall remain nameless...
As one continues to write, and write a great deal, certain steams of thought and narrative flow(s) reveal themselves. This is not a flashy way of saying I repeat myself. No, I think it is the realization that we have, as writers, certain strata in our psyches (or selves, or personae) and that this is the root level of where our material comes.
One must be true to these levels, and work them as you would anything that requires work. The form is there, one just give it substance.
And of course there are various resistances that shall remain nameless...
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