The hardest thing about writing is getting yourself into a state of not not writing, which -- when it gets really bad -- has me going for my stash of scribblings I've collected in a folder for no other reason than I never want to forget them. They have hydrating electrolyte-like properties. I first learned about John Cheever in high school and read some of his short stories in college, which may have something to do with why I have a soft spot for seeing -- emerging from incredible strings of words and sentences -- every-day life under a microscope while maintaining nuance and decorum that is a mix of beautiful, neurotic, ordinary, sweet and a little bit dark. An example of what I mean is below. It's a gem, a passage I can read over and again without fully understanding all the reasons why I'm so in awe.
"We have a nice house with a garden and a place outside for cooking meat, and on summer nights, sitting there with the kids and looking into the front of Christina's dress as she bends over to salt the steaks, or just gazing at the lights in heaven, I am as thrilled as I am thrilled by more hardy and dangerous pursuits, and I guess this is what is meant by the pain and sweetness of life."
- John Cheever, The Housebreaker of Shady Hill
