Let me tell you, if I could write one-tenth as fast as some of my friends, I'd be made. I'd be it. But instead I happen to be, in the tree of life of writers, down at the bottom, with the hematodes.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
As soon as I began, it seemed impossible to write fast enough - I wrote faster than I would write a letter - two thousand to three thousand words in a morning, and I cannot help it.
I'm not the fastest writer. I can't just crank out ideas that are good enough.
A.J. Liebling, one of my heroes, used to say that he could write better than anyone who wrote faster, and faster than anyone who could write better. I'm one nine-hundredth as good as Liebling, but that principle may slightly apply.
I write fast, I write beautifully, I write convincingly.
Nine-tenths of the people were created so you would want to be with the other tenth.
Every spare second I would write, somehow. On my lunch hour, too.
It's amazing, if you know what you want to say, how fast it is to write.
I write because I admire the act of rationalization, of seeking clarity in one's understanding of the complexities of life, and I'm bad at it. I'm slow. Writing, which is an arduous and slow process, proceeds at the same rate as my sloth-like mind.
I'm a fast writer.
I'm much faster now. When you only have a certain amount of time to write, after a while you learn to use your time well or you stop writing.