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Writing is like scrambling up a hill on all fours; you arrive halfway up, and you are committed – you want to reach the summit, yet you must stop, to gather your strength and will. When you have climbed to the summit, you stop, catch your breath, and take in the vista. You wonder how you made it. Then, you make your decent, somewhat subdued, all the while planning your next ascent, your next attempt to touch the sky. The memory of your climb leaves you with one impression – the idea that it gets easier, over time.
