You capture the germ of something. It's good. You work fast. Everything is lucid and frank. Nothing extra, nothing wasted.
You wait a bit and add more. It's bad. There's only one thing to do. Throw out the new, bad stuff. Leave it, and you'll ruin everything.
The first few sentences are still perfect. There lies the beauty. There lies the problem.
You labor a bit. It's fruitless. You have somewhere to be, so you go.
You forget about it for a while. You work on other things. The other things write themselves.
This beginning, this jewel of a thing hangs in the air. Until you find the proper middle and end that is where it will stay, suspended and waiting.
You're eager, but that won't get it done. Patience is what you need. You also must be ready to act quickly. Words sometimes arrive unbidden and unexpected.
Completion of this cultivated prose lies with the self that goes off script while doing the dishes. The shower is a think tank. So is the track.
You rein in this runaway train when it comes to paperwork, bills, forms and mathematics. You accommodate. You wish it were different. But you also treasure. For you, the wordsmith, that reckless vehicle is pure gold.
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