Writing itself is a love affair.

It starts off slowly, timorous, tumultuous, like an untested locomotive, but then it lurches forward and gradually picks up speed, becoming desperate and urgent in its desire to claim a morsel of the heart. Through the rise and fall, a solid middle ground is found, and a new work of writing is born. It is a laborious and painful birth, but there are no regrets when the new child is named.

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