I tried to explain to someone how writing is not something I do for enjoyment. I enjoy it, but I also hate it. I detest it. But, I love it. I don’t know if anyone other than a writer or artist could ever understand this.
I love when the words flow and the story and characters take on a life of their own. I love it when I become just the vessel, the person allowed by the heavens to relay that story and those characters to the world for whomever may decide to read it.
I love the puzzle of weighing every word in one single sentence, to make sure it is exactly as it should be; I love it when even the title becomes an integral part of the storytelling process.
I hate the hem-hawing around stalling because the story or character seems greater than my ability to give it or them the life they should have on paper and in the minds of others.
I detest it when I struggle with each and every word and it seems forced and then you go back and read it and it sounds forced, not natural.
I hate beginning.
I really hate ending.
The middle kind of sucks, too.
But, oh! How I love it!