To sum it all up, if you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling.
You must write every single day of your life.
You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next.
You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.
I wish for you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime.
I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you.
May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories—science fiction or otherwise.
Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.
RAY BRADBURY
I want to remake all worlds and no worlds. I want to transcribe my dreams onto paper and let you see my mind and the beauty it contains. My self-doubt cripples me and makes farce of my oft-repeated mantra, I do what I want. Fear creeps in and snares my doing of wanting. I want to write something immortal. I want to build my own eternal tomb, casting a shadow across the years.
Days like today push the words to the surface; I can feel them crawling under my skin. I’m surprised when I glance down and don’t see them pulsing on my arms. I suppose it’s because at this moment they’re traveling to my stomach and I’m going to puke them up, violently regurgitating all these feelings and emotions which boil inside of me. Words are my solace, my torment, my obsession, my master and my freedom.
I can’t breathe for choking on windy words, mouth full of consonants and vowels. I try to cough but even that cloying word clogs my throat. I’m locked in this body of ink. My only release is writing. Writing about writing for now.
Oh, this is madness.
