At times I cannot but indulge in self-pity as I attempt to fathom the writer’s struggles. For he has to earn a living by writing – and thus write, even when he knows not what to write about!
There is a vast contrast between the real world and that which nurtures along dances in a writer’s mind. Aye, where a single seed of a word or two describes a thing perceived by one or all of the five senses. Perhaps only the sixth sense alone, even. The writer has to break down his perceptions, beliefs, and ideas into tangible, almost infinite definitions.
Ah. Back to reality.