But I wish that I had - just once - not walked away from those little poetic offerings while they were in their infant stage. If only I’d given them more than ten to fifteen minutes to birth themselves! Discarding precious, not-yet-fully-formed, muse-gifted ideas is the worst of the worst: pure, ungrateful evil. Baby ideas are treasures. Luckily for the world, they (and the Muse who gifted them to you) know what they are worth, so a really great idea that you don’t take care of will eventually leave you and gift itself to someone who will. Writing, however, sticks with you through better and worse. It loves you unconditionally, even in your messiest moments, and no matter how you treated ideas in the past it will always bring you more.
I met my art when I really young. Thankfully, writing’s great at teaching patience. I learned to honor a thought by validating and developing it in the exact, specific way that only I could. It taught me how to delve deep into ideas and then it showed me how to walk away, giving them as much distance as I could stand in order to edit like an Impressionist painter: considering them from every angle so as to enable ideas to grow bigger and stronger, or sometimes more quiet and uglier, but always more authentically beautiful. Writing knows that there is nothing sexier than a killer, emotional and visually visceral line that sears onto your skin, and then days or months or even years later, will reach out unexpectedly and pinch you in the right spot, waking you up and reminding you that you are so vibrantly alive.
I was correct to recognize that writing isn’t a fling. It doesn’t do affairs. You gotta put a ring on it. I’m so glad I got over my commitment phobia and can happily say that writing and I are officially living happily ever after.
Happy Valentines Day Writing!! I love you!