It's weird. Having thoughts is okay, but having to type them, to watch them come up on screen - it's almost like you have to validate them, and you feel like tacking footnotes on the end just to justify the way you feel, because you feel like your opinion isn't enough, somehow. You're not ready to fly yet. It almost makes you feel like you're not ready to write yet, that you've got no preordained right to the words streaming almost magically from your keyboard to the screen.
You get false confidence, too. You start picking apart essays and criticising critics, feeling you're making some sort of difference, then you pick up a book and - sure enough - there it is, your carefully wrought theory in 200 words. But maybe there's a reason for this. Maybe the golden age of theory has passed, for now, until you think of something that isn't in the books.
One phrase, however, has kept me going, and I can only hope it inspires other writers: "go forth and make trouble," an inspiration I owe to Patrick Ness, who wrote "A Monster Calls," which I can't help but wish I could give to my twelve-year old self. Another book that inspires me is "The Book Thief," by Markus Zusak, a truly marvellous challenge of the novel form, narrated by Death, focusing on one particular little girl in one particular street during the darkest of times - the second World War. It's remarkable. Beautiful. I can't even describe it properly.
So, I guess that's it for the night.
Go forth, fellow writers, and make trouble. Even if right now all you want is a hot bath, warm pjyamas and a bed. Make trouble. Make love. Watch that cringeworthy film and write an even more cringeworthy poem about it. Develop a familiar that whispers jokes in your ear. Live. Write.
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