I see it, glimmering beneath the surface of the universe in an unformed realm that precedes creation. It is primordial, a complex composition of ageless utterances transcending language, space and time. I hunch over a stack of paper with my pen in hand, ready to surround it with a net of words. They are crude in their expressive power, yet capable enough to capture its essence, trap its soul so I can slowly reel it in, a whole new world, young and still crackling with wild newborn magic.
I am thought of by most as a creator of worlds. But I am only a lowly fisherman, trawling an insubstantial ocean in search of worlds half glimpsed, eternal mysteries even to the likes of me. I make my modest living on the few small worlds I’m strong enough to catch. I glimpse larger ones, great hulking cosmos buried deep beneath the depths. But even as I reach for them I know that I am too weak, that my net is too shallow to ever catch them.
That is perhaps the most frustrating part of what I do, to spy so many nascent worlds flitting through the ether that will forever remain unexpressed, doomed to an everlasting half-life in the shadow of non-existence. I weep for them, but there is nothing I can do.
I turn away from such thoughts to gaze at my latest acquisition. It is beautiful, resplendent. I love it like a newborn child.
Then I catch another glimmer.
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Reblogged this on The Way of the Storyteller:.
Never quite thought of it like that, but I love the imagery.
My issue tends to be quieting the dozens of competing voices and casting out the half-imagined images, long enough to focus on the one that cries out the loudest to be heard.
Love the blog so far. Glad I came across it.
Thank you! 🙂 I have that problem too. I have a ton of stories sitting around that I started and never finished for that very reason.
And then often the ones I finish are the ones I don’t like and the ones I love I can never finish
I think that’s a common problem. For me, it’s often a feeling of inadequacy. The ones I love are the hardest to finish, because I’m afraid I won’t do a good enough job.
Agreed. While it is on your head it is perfect, as soon as it becomes ink on a page it is flawed.
What Ahab never knew: A million perch, taken sequentially, will sustain you better, longer, than one great white whale. Rejoice that the big ones remain elusive, freeing you to concentrate on the smaller and more tractable.
I see the wisdom in this, but still, once in a while, it would be nice to catch a big one.
Reblogged this on Julx's Blog.
Reblogged this on Cristian Mihai.