I bet you write like there is a demon inside you.  We geniuses of the page have no time to wait around, deliberating for years over a thesaurus.  We don’t read thesauruses, we write dictionaries; we don’t follow rules, we break and found them; we can, if the mood takes us, create a life-changing thing in three days.  We burn to get back to our pen.  Shakespeare, a man sneered at by his contemporaries for his pauperdom and small Latin, used to write his exquisite rhymes without a single blot or crossing out.  That’s Genius at work.  We discard golden thoughts as if they were garbage.  We write a sentence without a second thought.  Conditions do but alter the hue of the light in our mind, and it never dims, never.  It evolves and matures.  It hits upon new shapes, stranger and more glorious than anything the mediocre mind can house.  And one day, you and I will write a book together.

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