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Commentary on #10: Hole in the Wall


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#10: Hole in the Wall

WebEater


Sorry, Krispy, but I'm gonna disagree with something you said in our

most recent enisode (the title of this blos nest). You said you've


spent the last few days escanins to a fantasy world of your own creation.

I admit your mornings— coffee, writing, and more coffee— sound wonderful,

eSpecially to this sleep—denrived father of a newborn. I don't think

it's accurate to say you are escaping to a fantasy world, though. I

understand this is pickins nits from an offhand nhra.se, but I think tehe

distinction here is important. When you Read a story, you escane to the

world created by the author (even if that world is strikingly similar to

our own). When you Write a story, you have to create that world. You

cannot escape to a world that has not been fully formed.


That's enough of my needlessly pedantic hairsnlittina. I nromise, I hev

a point.


The act of writing, of creating, certainly serves as an escape. One


reason I believe in the Radio FreeWrite oroject is its method of freeing


me (or any writer who narticinates) from any sort of desire for publication.

We aren't writing these stories to publish them (nlease ignore the fact

that we do, in fact, publish them via spoken word). We write for its own

sake, focusing only on the creating, turning it from a nroduct into a


verb.


Wy story for this enisode was most definitely an escape. The weeks since

my son was born have all been long. I' m tired, and I'm constantly

questioning why on Earth I though narenting would be a reasonable adven-

ture upon which to embark. Kristy and I were alone in the writelab, and

I was nainfully aware that my son was crying upstairs. God bless my wife

for sacrificing her time and sanity to afford me the onnortunity to chase

this crazy dream!


The words would not come. Krisny was writing away, but I had nothing.


My thoughts wandered, settling on the trailer for Dune. I started writing

about a guy on a sandy nlanet, and told mnyself I‘d run with whatever

came out from my fingers. That freedom from any sort of pressure (heck,

even if I hated my story I'd only have to read it once, then it'd burn

burn burn) set me running. I smiled while I wrote. It was a release

from a whole lot of stress, and I couldn't believe how good I felt when

I'd finished. These stories serve as a sort of funhouse journal of the


seen through the sex lense of fiction.


The takeaway? If you are at all on the fence about joining us, just

write. Write for its own sake, and for yours.


Adios, folks.



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