To write! It means the lengthy dreaming before the spotless sheet; the unconscious scribbling, and the idle play of the pen as it circles round and round a blot, and nibbles and scratches at the inaccurate word, till it is bristling with tiny darts, ornamented with feelers and legs, and finally, losing its legible word-from, becomes transformed into a grotesque insect, and as rapidly converted into a fairy butterfly.
To write! It means the rapt, hypnotized gaze, caught by the reflected window in the silver inkstand. It means the burning of divine fever on cheek and brow, while a delightful death chills the hand that chases words upon the paper. I means oblivion of time, the idle nestling in the corner of the couch while yielding free reigh to a very riot of invention. It means emerging from the debauch all tired and stupefied, but already richly rewarded, and the bearer of great wealth to be poured slowly out upon the virgin page in the circlet of light sheltering under the lamp!
Oh, to write! To pour out furiously all the sincerity within one on the tempting page, swiftly, quickly, till the hand struggles, stumbles, is exhausted by the impatient god that rides it so hard! And then, next morning, instead of finding a golden branch burst into bloom in one flaming hour, to gather only a withered briar—an imperfect blossom!
Sidonie Gabrielle Claudine Collete – la vagabonde
I love this Franz…