But. . .There comes a time, part-way through (in my case it usually happens around page 70), when you fall out of love with it. In fact, you begin to hate it. You read it over and you are convinced that never has anyone, in the history of the world, written anything so slack and feeble. You are ashamed. You can hardly look at yourself in the mirror. "
~ Phillip Pullman
I just thought this was neat. I tend to idolize Pullman for what an amazing gift he has as well as his accessibility. When I read something by him, I don't think "I could never do that", I think "God, I'm going to be a writer." And the bit I pasted in kinda expresses the writing mind, of a sort. You DO feel this passion and drive and fury, and then it's gone again in an instant, and you're left hating it, hating yourself. But you can't stop. That's the thing... it won't let you. Writing is ambiguity. Writing is a constant struggle against one's own mind. At least, in my point of view.
Thought you guys would enjoy this, though. Read the article, if you have time. It's ruddy brill. ^_~
So. Project time, I'm thinkin', since it's Christmas holiday and all.
"Did you love her?"
Peter almost laughed. "Yes." I would have died for her. I would have killed for her.
"Do you still love her?"
"Yes and no." He frowned, trying to place the words evenly, keep them from breaking her back. "You don't just stop loving a person like that."
Barely a whisper. "What will you do?"