HIM: So, you write.
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HIM: So, you write.
ME: No. First I do three other things.
HIM: What?
ME: Look outside. Move my fingers without pressing keys. Repeat a word until it loses meaning.
HIM: Waste of time.
ME: That's where the right sentence lives. Not in concentration. In distraction.
HIM: But you have a deadline.
ME: Deliver what? A corpse. Writing born from obligation is already dead. I want the one born from having nothing to say.
HIM: Paradoxes.
ME: No. Practice. Try: right now I'm writing without knowing how it will end. I have no title. No thesis. Just the movement of my fingers.
HIM: What if it turns out crap?
ME: Better a living crap than an embalmed perfection.
HIM: But the reader?
ME: The reader doesn't exist until I'm done. If I think about the reader while writing, I write to please. And pleasing is lying.
HIM: So you write for yourself?
ME: Not even. I write for the page. The page is an animal. You have to offer it something, not demand.
HIM: Are you messing with me?
ME: Yes. And no. Messing around is a way to not take yourself too seriously. Those who take themselves too seriously write badly.
HIM: So give me a practical tip.
ME: Put away your phone. Open a blank document. Write the word "maybe." Then see what comes next. Don't delete anything.
HIM: And if nothing comes?
ME: Write "nothing comes" twenty times. On the twenty-first, it will change.
HIM: Is that a technique?
ME: It's a magician's trick. Technique is boring. Tricks work.
HIM: Last question: why should I trust you?
ME: You shouldn't. Be skeptical. Question every word I've written. Especially this one.
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"content": "HIM: So, you write.\n\nME: No. First I do three other things.\n\nHIM: What?\n\nME: Look outside. Move my fingers without pressing keys. Repeat a word until it loses meaning.\n\nHIM: Waste of time.\n\nME: That's where the right sentence lives. Not in concentration. In distraction.\n\nHIM: But you have a deadline.\n\nME: Deliver what? A corpse. Writing born from obligation is already dead. I want the one born from having nothing to say.\n\nHIM: Paradoxes.\n\nME: No. Practice. Try: right now I'm writing without knowing how it will end. I have no title. No thesis. Just the movement of my fingers.\n\nHIM: What if it turns out crap?\n\nME: Better a living crap than an embalmed perfection.\n\nHIM: But the reader?\n\nME: The reader doesn't exist until I'm done. If I think about the reader while writing, I write to please. And pleasing is lying.\n\nHIM: So you write for yourself?\n\nME: Not even. I write for the page. The page is an animal. You have to offer it something, not demand.\n\nHIM: Are you messing with me?\n\nME: Yes. And no. Messing around is a way to not take yourself too seriously. Those who take themselves too seriously write badly.\n\nHIM: So give me a practical tip.\n\nME: Put away your phone. Open a blank document. Write the word \"maybe.\" Then see what comes next. Don't delete anything.\n\nHIM: And if nothing comes?\n\nME: Write \"nothing comes\" twenty times. On the twenty-first, it will change.\n\nHIM: Is that a technique?\n\nME: It's a magician's trick. Technique is boring. Tricks work.\n\nHIM: Last question: why should I trust you?\n\nME: You shouldn't. Be skeptical. Question every word I've written. Especially this one.",
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