I always look at writing as a gift, loving it the way I do. I think any art you’re blessed with comes straight from above. It’s passion, rooted in your being that makes up a great deal of who you are.
Writing is its own reward, said Henry Miller.
When Hemingway was asked to give advice on writing, he said, just write.
In Julia Cameron’s book, The Right to Write, a young man yet to pen a word is worried…what if he’s never published?
She says…just write.
When I’m struggling over one of life’s sudden twists, I head for the page to put my fears and tears down on paper so my heart can beat normally again, because to quote Emily Dickinson, a wounded deer leaps the highest.
If that’s not a grace, then I don’t know what is, turning your pain into art, like the late, great Cary Fisher said.
The artist, David Hockney, doesn’t hear well anymore but said, thank God I can still paint, and does…quietly, steadily.
One’s art is one’s motor and like any other, well designed machine, without it, it just can’t run.