Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this, because it is the key to making art and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life. Every time I have set out to translate the book (or story, or hopelessly long essay) that exists in such brilliant detail on the big screen of my limbic system onto a piece of paper (which, let’s face it, was once a towering tree crowned with leaves and a home to birds), I grieve for my own lack of talent and intelligence. Every. Single. Time. Were I smarter, more gifted, I could pin down a closer facsimile of the wonders I see. I believe that, more than anything else, this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself.
~ Copyright © 2011 Ann Patchett (The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life, Byliner, Inc.).
♥ This week’s Sunday Bear Hug is brought to you by Mr. Cornelius, who admires you and your writing. “Please eat an extra piece of chocolate pie for me,” he says, “after you finish your work today.”
Copyright © 2012 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.