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Friday, 16 March 2018

Pause on long stories

I'm still mourning the loss of my novelist-type mind. It's just that there is no longer anything I want or need to say with so many words at this time.

On one hand it makes me feel lost, missing the slow process. On the other, it is a relief to know that the thoughts and characters as all they mean and live for can be saved with less; there is less fear of running out of time, fewer corners to make mistakes. On one hand I miss the characters constantly developing in my mind, but they feel much closer now.

It's bittersweet.

Like children growing up. Or maybe it's more like I've grown up, grown into them or at least to a point where instead of the me the writer only living through them, there is hope that perhaps they might live through me.

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