Writing 1

Every single sentence should be interesting. No one buys an apple and says, "I hope that I get a few good bites out of this thing." No. An apple should be delicious to its core. The writer's job is to entertain, entice, tickle, tease. The writer's mistake will be to overuse alliteration or stretch a sentence on until, like a guitar string wound too tight by amateur hands, it snaps and lashes out in discordant ire. 

Every sentence is a lightning bug in a jar, and it's you, writer, who are collecting these jars and placing them in a broad field so that a passenger in a plane overhead might look down and see the light show. They'll watch in wonder, only just feeling their hearts fill before the view is gone. 

Every line of dialogue is life and you are God. Every paragraph can be something that inspires creation in another. You're an infinite matchbook. You strike. Flame bursts forth. You search for wicks and if none meets your fire you go dark, and maybe you've burned your thumb, but you strike again. You'll light a candle eventually. You'll bring more light to the world.

Open your doors and windows!

Strike. Strike again. And be not afraid.