You have to want it more than anything else--more than breathing even. More than sex or happiness. More than that cigarette, this chocolate, those glasses of wine. More than the children you have not had. You have to want it bad. You have to defend it, protect it, guard it—with your own very life, if necessary.
And then, one day, out of nowhere, it comes the realization: you can live without it. It may as well never happen again. You walk as if on clouds. You breathe.
Then, slowlysoftlyjoyously, you begin writing.
miércoles, febrero 11, 2009
slowlysoftlyjoyously, dice Rivera Garza
De No hay Tal Lugar.