You know something

…wonderful happens when you’re deep inside your writing space.

Writers know this feeling. It’s like a song in your head, isn’t it? The story sings to you. It becomes magical, as if you’re not so much telling the story as reliving it, a hundred times over, until it plays out right. It’s the purest kind of imagination, the ability to dream intensely; something we never gave up when we grew up.

To have that taken from you, even for a little while, is like having the colors washed out of everything.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s how someone who doesn’t dream sees the world, and suddenly a lot of the bad stuff makes a whole lot more sense.


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