So I posted this comment at https://ello.co/kseniaanske/post/o_qSf4sM9VfmvgLG5fFgLg for @kseniaanske, and it's rather tailored to her, but she thought other writers might benefit ( @ellowrites ) , so there it is :)
We are called Homo Sapiens Sapiens. The Wise Wise Man. It is only through much thinking that we become wise, that we become who we really are meant to be.
We all have that capacity. We all share that ancestry.
It is in thinking that we become human, and it is in writing that we help other think, thus become human.
Your writing, dear Ksenia, is a window into man's humanity, and through it men and women glimpse who they really are. It would not do if you were to not give it your very best. It would not do at all.
In time, it is my hope that drafts 1 through 4 will happen within the mind, and that you will then be able to write better, faster, and hit harder and harder at the sullen dumbness of man.
Do I love you? Yes. Do I care about you? Yes. But I would rather you be the valiant destroyer of evil and harbinger of the Age of Intelligence than entertain me or the rest of the poor devils who wallow in the dust below.
When your mind takes you on a journey, let none distract you.
When your spirit soars through wild sensations, spread your wings like Pegasus and fly, rising to the rarefied air above where the sun shines above the endless expanse.
When the eyes within your eyes imagine grass and plains and mountains beyond, with poplars high in the nearby wind, and wild flowers along the banks of a shallow creek, give yourself permission always to step barefoot into the water and feel with all senses the inner reality, the you within the you.
For none now knows the risks the child within willingly takes to scale the crags of long-forbidding peaks, knowing the peril is real, knowing failure awaits.
Yet the crowd chants your praise, willing you onward with ever stronger cheer. They dare not go themselves where they prompt you steps; they even hesitate to write the first words down.
So it is with much trepidation that I cheer you on, for I have seen the wild eyes of beasts beyond, and it is not a light journey, but a descent into madness that awaits the good writers, the most skilled in our field.
I would if I could provide the needed goods to lead a life of ease in kingly luxury, if only I could think it might just deter you from your dogged pursuit, if only you'd feel real without paper and quill.
But I know the angst that animates you, the horror at passivity, the dread of simple-mindedness that makes you fear the idleness of materialistic plenty, so as men in war who step into machines of steel I do not say "be safe" or proffer some banal platitudes, but I simply stare into those eyes of yours and say, voice chilled by anxiety: "Onward, writer."