playwrighting

The words of his various writing instructors and professional mentors over the years came back to him at times like these, and he found a new understanding in their advice: Writing is rewriting. The rough draft is just that. You can__ polish what you haven__ written. Things that made for a normal life__ike a daily routine that followed the sun__ook a back seat to times like these, and he exulted in that change because it served as proof that his writing was indeed the most important thing in his life. It wasn__ a conscious choice on his part, like deciding to repaint the bathroom or go buy the groceries, but an overarching reallocation of his existence that was as undeniable as breathing. Day turned into night, breakfast turned into dinner, and the laptop or the writing tablet beckoned even when he was asleep. He would often awake with a new idea__s if he__ merely been on a break and not unconscious__nd he would see the empty seat before the desk not as his station in some pointless assembly line, but as the pilot__ seat in a ship that could go anywhere.

Words are sacred. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones, in the right order, you can nudge the world a little.

That's what I love most about writers--they're such lousy actors.