Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whenever I venture on the stream of rhyme;
With shattered boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent.
Every experience, however minor or major, pushes you a little bit to your masterpiece. Don’t write to be a writer. Write to get to know your madness better. Write like it’s the only way you’ll ever meet your other unfathomable half. And to fathom the inexplicable is the purpose of art. Forget about relevance. Forget what makes sense. The kid watching with his wide sparkling eyes how his father is coating the last tinges of paint on a certain someone’s car may not be part of a story. But it’s part of your vision. Write about the kid.
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