I find that writing is very much like building a fire — it takes a lot of kindling and care, and if I turn my back on it as soon as I get a bit of smoke, the flame is likely to go out. If I want the fire to keep burning, I have to give myself over to it. No walking off, no turning my back and waltzing to email or LJ or FB: I need to stay by its side and feed it.

(It doesn’t work that way for everyone, I know. Some wonderful writers thrive on distraction. But it’s how it works for me.)

Some days I have no trouble locating my kindling; the forest floor is littered with it. Some days there’s plenty left over from the day before. But some days there isn’t a scrap to be found, and it’s rainy and dark out there, and finding more is going to be a bear…

And yet I know that if I don’t look, I won’t find. It’s that simple — and that hard.

Off to go find some kindling…

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