I’m in Love With the Imperfections of Writing (and Reading)
On the craft of writing, the art of reading, and never fully understanding where words might take you.
The thing you often hear writers lamenting their craft say is, “It’s so hard. Writing is incredibly difficult.”
Meanwhile, the thing most readers say when commenting on a beloved story is, “It’s so good. It’s just, so good.” If they are a reader of physical books, they might press the novel between their hands, hold the pages to their chest, close their eyes, and exhale.
Sort of the way a parent who understands that no matter what they do, they cannot prepare their child for everything. They cannot protect their child from everything. The exhale is a symbol of defeat against a universal truth: to learn, you must live; you will get hurt along the way, but overcoming that pain will make you stronger every single time.
Perhaps, that’s what I love about writing. I adore how incomplete it often feels. I love that you are never “ready” to begin and that you are bound to be wrong through someone’s lens. I love that there’s no formula. There is no golden rule that defines a single portrait of “good writing”, but somehow we are still able to produce greatness.
