Here’s a thought that occurred to me yesterday while I was thinking about my story, driving through the hills, looking over the beach. I came home and jotted it.
‘Sometimes when you’re writing, you become lost in fragments of thought and then, all of a sudden, it feels like these broken, scattered bits merge together to make something whole. And, for a moment, it feels as though you have something that’s perfect. A story that feels as much a part of you as your ear or your arm or nose.
This doesn’t last long and you end up smashing it again and, at some undefined future date, it comes back together in another form. It’s still the same parts of you but they slot into different spaces and make something else (im) perfect.’