“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life”

Ernest Hemingway’s 1954 Nobel Prize acceptance speech is a succinct and enjoyable read. My favorite part is maybe the most inscrutable:

Things may not be immediately discernible in what a man writes, and in this sometimes he is fortunate; but eventually they are quite clear and by these and the degree of alchemy that he possesses he will endure or be forgotten.

Alchemy is a fitting analogy for what happens when a solid writing experiment fuses into the best version of itself. You can feel it happen. I had forgotten that feeling until recently; hope to find it more frequently now. Of course, that will require some solitude…

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