Quite often I write things almost automatically. When I go back to read the things, I end up saying to myself, "How in God's name did you get that right?"
It's as if the writer and the reader in me are two different beings. This leads me back to Terry Pratchett's idea that there are particles of inspiration sleeting down, waiting to find a mind that is ready to give expression to them. It's amost as if the story or thought really is out there, wanting to be told, looking for someone to tell it. It's not as if the ideas are forced. I do a little bit of planning and then let go. The story chooses where it wants to go, and the amazing thing is that those ideas work out.
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