When you've got a stack of awesome books to read, another book to write, a body to move, a mouth to feed, realities to create...I take out one of my many typewriters and think about the patience it once took to create. From quills and pots of thick, oily ink to ribbons and keys, to pen and paper, and now, computers. And then I take a deep breath and peck a few keys and revel in the sound and conjure all the greats who ever sat and wrote and made one precious copy of one precious book. And then I spend time getting aligned and dive into my own work, that can be shifted, saved, edited, scrapped, or rewritten. What a wonderful, strange little world writers inhabit...
"Kirsten slept fitfully, aware each time she woke of the emptiness of the landscape, the lack of people and animals and caravans around her. Hell is the absence of the people you Long for." Station Eleven by Emily Mandel page 144/333