briefly - on creative writing.

not perfect, but enough, I think.

Everywhere: less is more. Apparently. I enjoy short sentences. Handmaid’s Tale-style. They feel complete. A short, sweet, hit - like a berry. A sense of simplicity. Security. That I know what I’m going to say before I say it. That I can say it in my head and still remember it by the time it comes out my mouth. Otherwise it turns into dust. Clouds up the room. Eyes are trained. Justification is required. The dust goes. Nothing.

Short is real. Sincere. Long is crafted, created, curated, with bouts of pretentiousness and deliberate artistry. Is that good? Hateful? Boastful? Boring? Could be decorating. Could be hiding. Hiding with elaboration. But then maxims don’t always do the job. I’m too indecisive, I fear. Always trifling with simple claims - they’re not quite right. Never right, not in any aspect by the time I’m done with them. Better to say nothing at all.

Maybe it’s desperation. For an audience member. Do something drastic, ensure sincerity, distilled. Then people will watch. They like their meat raw. Doesn’t matter if it’s turbulent to enlighten or quixotic to escape. As long as it’s raw. But then you see people, consumed. Limb by limb. Guts whole. Till all that’s left is nothing and everything and then - purpose. I still don’t know. What it’s like, whether I should want it, whether I need it, whether I am just distracting myself until I face it.

But I’ve started. So that’s something. Not nothing. Sometimes I catch a glimpse and hate that something. But I will never hate myself for trying.