I’ve got so many thoughts, all seemingly unoriginal and previously tried. However, isn’t that what people want to read, bits of familiarity dipped in articulation? An eloquent portrayal of an indescribable feeling, the simple satisfaction of knowing someone feels like you do? Essentially a temporary cure for loneliness, a comforting, warm bed in the shape of a book filled with people who couldn’t possibly disappear after a finite number of pages? Tiny, untraceable ideas dawn in my mind, each bearing the affectations of everything that passes through my irises and eardrums. They’re anxious to be transcribed to form a place one would feel desperate to physically delve into, a fantastic engulfment. I want these ideas to jump off pages and captivate readers. I want them to provide a temporary escape to a place absent of pretension, a place where the once mundane and trivial become bewitching and gripping.
The open-ended nature of creativity is simultaneously the most daunting and exciting thing about it.