Good Writing

I think, perhaps, my favorite thing about writing is this:

You sit at your computer for hours, slaving over this essay, article, journal, story, prompt. You go over each phrase as if it were a delicate flower in need of tender care. Words are like grains of sand that must be placed just so in order to create your masterpiece. Yes, organic. But organic in the way that each leaf on a tree is small but important. Minutes, hours later you sit back for a moment and sip your tea, coffee, beverage. Your eyes skim over the page(s) and you happily sigh. You can feel in your bones that these words are right. They are meant. Even if some of them skitter off in revision and even if the world never catches a glimpse of this draft, for the moment you are content. Your existence, somehow, has managed to find meaning. All in that precise little typeface.

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