On Writing

I am not a very good writer, and in the grand scheme of things, I don't know many writers, but I think I've come to a few assumptions about the types of writers there might be.

I am not struck by clever turns of phrases. My metaphors and similes are passable at their best. But I have met people who are wordsmiths at heart. Letters build their cores, and phrases launch them into a novel. They are the poets, the sonneteers. When their hands move through the air, they flip invisible dictionary pages. Usually articulate.

I am not a very good wordsmith, but not for lack of trying. I write from images, which might explain my affinity for film writing, and when I close my eyes to think, it's to let the moving pictures rearrange themselves. Daydreaming beautiful and horrible things. That is the most pleasurable and natural. But when I get around to writing, describing the daydream is like wrestling a cat into a carrier box. By the time I've gotten it there on the page, it's shed fur, it's hissing, there's a puddle of urine. It's there, and it's still a cat, but we just end up frowning at each other.

I hear this is something that will get easier with time.