When you try to unravel something you've written, you belittle it in a way. It was created as a mystery.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
If you're a writer, you know there are ways in which we don't know what we're doing at all. We're working out mysteries in a sort of poetic realm, and hoping that if a story is honest, if you're dragging the deep truth out of yourself, then something good and profound might come out of it.
What I do is write, and I try to write as closely as I can into what I call 'the mystery.'
I think I write about things that are mysterious to me.
Everything I write comes from my childhood in one way or another. I am forever drawing on the sense of mystery and wonder and possibility that pervaded that time of my life.
A writer never reads his work. For him, it is the unreadable, a secret, and he cannot remain face to face with it. A secret, because he is separated from it.
It seems to me that readers sometimes make the genesis of a poem more mysterious than it is (by that I perhaps mean, think of it as something outside their own experience).
If you remain unsettled by a piece of writing, it means you are not watching the story from the outside; you've already taken a step towards it.
Write as precisely and as lucidly and as richly as you can about what you find truly mysterious and irreducible about human experience, and not obscurely about what will prove to be received opinion or cliche once the reader figures out your stylistic conceit. There's all the difference in the world between mystery and mystification.
What writing does is to reveal.
To write a good mystery you have to know where it will end before you can decide where it will begin... and I've always known where it will end.
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