I constantly remind myself that one of the reasons I write, is to find, or hoping to find, resonance. And in this knowledge of hope, writing hides in waiting.
One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done ~ Marie Curie.
To find this writing I’d have to write. “Hoisted with my own petard,” I’d think and say and feel the looming defeat as the battle begins: the absurd, the impulsive, the dreamer against the just, the controlled, the committed. Good writing against bad writing. And in the midst, an inner ‘it’ warily measures the distance between the ideal writing and the real writing, between the present perfection (really?) and the past imperfection (really).
A little knowledge that acts is worth infinitely more than much knowledge that is idle ~ Kahlil Gibran.
From this dist…the fight is a losing battle. The oughts and musts bulk too large. Yet, in this battle with words, hope continues to seek fullness.