The friction, the longing, the dissatisfaction–without this rocket fuel, is it not possible to write fiction?
By friction/longing/dissatisfaction, I don’t mean suffering. (Suffering is so pointless.) But if, say, I can’t even feel dissatisfied by simple hunger because I’m so certain that I’ll be full soon enough anyway… then can I write fiction?
Without an itch, is it possible? If I have a desire and the second I have it, I know I literally have it… there is no gap to close. The world might take a while to catch up, but the “wait” is like the one between ordering food at a restaurant and knowing for a fact that it will be brought to my table.
I’m not talking about anhedonia. There is plenty of pleasure in peace.
Maybe I will learn to write from stillness rather than turmoil. Some of this shift already occurred between Ithaka and Wynn. I didn’t expect another one that actually feels more like… more like a completion? Not sure how to put this.