Building My House

As I am writing today it strikes me that the art of writing is like building a house. A lot of what I’m doing, while I’m getting my ideas down on paper, is like putting in bricks and mortar. It’s not flashy. It’s dirty. It’s hard. It takes a long time, and it often leaves blisters on my fingers. There’s not a lot of beauty to it, or even anything that unusual. Instead, I’m building a frame that others can understand and that their imaginations can live in. There is description and there is dialogue. There are pieces of action that move the plot along, but all of these are built out of commonplace bricks and mortar. Still, the frame is important. Without it there’s just a bunch of disorganization and nebulous, meaningless ideas. Only by building the frame strong and level can I find the right places to put in the stained glass windows that turn my house into a work of art.

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