My Writing Process

I FIND myself zoning in on a thought, turning it over and over in my mind until all else fades and my consciousness is reduced to a machine that serves only to deconstruct and reconstruct and toss and tumble and prod and observe this singular obsession.

In this state I am a predatory animal, driven by a primal and insatiable hunger, and I can’t stop until I have eaten the writhing thing alive.

Then my belly is full, and I move on to write the next sentence.

With love,


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