The second is slower, harder. You have to try every word carefully, with an uncertainty that is both frightening and beautiful, as if you're learning about a person by touching them bit by bit. I like that way too. I wish mostly to experience the first method, since it's almost effortless and I'm lazy. But the tenderness of the second, the moments when you realise you've been holding your breath and, as you let it out in a quiet sigh, the story begins to settle more deeply in your mind; and the moments when you shiver gently because the story has touched you in return ...
There is enchantment in work as much as there is in inspiration.
Outside my window, the world has gone to winter gold. Little birds are singing and scrounging in my garden. A neighbour has something richly fragrant on their stove - something that seems to involve flowers, I think, and their own exotic memories, and warmth. It's all lovely. But inside of my imagination, rain weeps against firelit panes and a girl is waiting, a monster is waiting, and I am laying this word, that word, against the images of them, learning slowly where every syllable fits.
So a brief hello today, and best wishes to you. I'll be back tomorrow, or whenever I catch hold of what is stirring behind the fire and the dark rain.