The
brain is surprisingly plastic. I've written more between November 1 and
today than in any comparable period since "Last Dancer" was published,
and that was 26 years ago.
Every time I've sat down in front of the computer, it's come more easily. Skills and ways of thinking I haven't used in decades are abruptly peeking around the corner and wanting to know if they can come back out.
I'm not the writer I was, as a purely machine-level skillset, back then. I know more than I did, I'm a different person to a remarkable degree, but the little story engine in my head isn't back to what it was. Maybe it never will be. But I no longer doubt it's possible to get most of the way there.
Every time I've sat down in front of the computer, it's come more easily. Skills and ways of thinking I haven't used in decades are abruptly peeking around the corner and wanting to know if they can come back out.
I'm not the writer I was, as a purely machine-level skillset, back then. I know more than I did, I'm a different person to a remarkable degree, but the little story engine in my head isn't back to what it was. Maybe it never will be. But I no longer doubt it's possible to get most of the way there.
