The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.
For years before I started writing, I would pull a blank page toward me and imagine sketching images, filling it with colors and images.
But I can’t draw!
It wasn’t until I stated writing that I realized my fingers were itching to draw words on that blank page, fill it with concepts and ideas and lines and thoughts. When I finally took up that pen, it was liberating, it could all break free.
For me, I know that the finished book exists somewhere in time and space. It is my job to reach through the veils and pull out the best version. Just knowing that it already exists frees me up somewhat. 🙂
I place a$$ in seat, hands on keyboard, and work, work, work until the book is completed to my satisfaction.
But, that’s just me.
Lovely quote and very true.
Not to nit-pick, but the author’s name needs to be corrected to “Nabokov.” That’s the correct spelling.
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