Disclaimer: Furuba and it's characters © Takaya Natsuki. I own nothing but the prose~
Look out onto the veranda; watch the heron and the fish play a final game of hide-and-seek. Would you write of the sharp clack of the heron's beak and of the silent cry and flash of gold slipping down its gullet? Would you write of the pain and of the despair and hierarchy that nature throws at us all? Or perhaps you will form a romance, a classic tale of the majestic flight and pride of wings made like beautiful fans. How stunning nature is, how precious, how—
When you are writing, what do you feel?
As the words touch your fingertips, or the weight of an old pen rests between your fingers, how do you feel? Is the pen clutched tightly, is it loose and free? Do your fingers force the keys to work or slowly, gently embrace every letter?
I wonder... why is it that you waste precious grains of sand creating sentences? An amateur whose stories might never see the light of day, a professional who is nothing compared to the layperson that will never shine. Love — Passion — Romance?
Ask yourself a question: are you the prideful heron taking flight, or the fish that hides in fear of the world? Prideful or terrified... somebody or nobody.
If you look through the glass you should see a world of inspiration; dark or light, horrific or striking. The worlds are designed from minds so different but always, it is the same concept. Writing, writing, writing.
Ah? What do I feel when I write? Hm... nothing really.