Writing is hard. It’s harder than math, because there’s no right answer. It’s harder than science, because there are no laws. It’s harder than staying awake during SAT. There are no formulas in writing. There are no foolproof plans. There are no shortcuts.
There is only you, a piece of paper, and a pen.
But writing is also easy. It’s easier than math, because there’s no right answer. It’s easier than science, because there are no laws. There are no boundaries. There are no certainties. There is no such thing as impossible.
Sometimes the words flow. Sometimes the story tells itself, the words fall into place and shift to become your castle walls, your distant, violet mountains, your character’s heartbeat. Sometimes you are so lost in your own head that this world fades into the background, and nothing exists except the endless tapping of your keyboard, the small black symbols appearing in neat rows across your screen, and the world, your world, that breathes between the lines.
Other times, it’s like you’re so insane that even your own insanity won’t talk to you. Sometimes there’s only a blank screen. Sometimes you sit glaring at your laptop until you get a migraine, but no story.
Sometimes, you really wonder why you’re still writing, when you are clearly no good at it.
And then. You get an idea. About a girl raised by spies and a boy who believes that love is a weakness. About a wolf and a sacrifice and a blood-red star. About a party, an impulsive decision, a trip to the emergency room, and the word cancer. About the imaginary friend of a girl who commits suicide.
And you remember.