Sometimes you write…

Sometimes you write something you just love, you know? The way you can fall in love with a particular passage of music, or a beautiful view of the Bay Area (on 13, at the stop light just before you get to Berkeley), or the crinkle of his eyes when he laughs. Something that makes you smile, involuntarily, every time you see it. That lifts your heart. I think some people must find that in religion, in a good church and a good prayer.

I find it most often in fiction. Yesterday, when I couldn't work anymore, I took five minutes, ten, to re-read passages from Kay's Fionavar books. They arouse irresistible emotions in me -- joy, sorrow, deep contentment. I don't know how he does that.

I just revised the med-student-in-the-library scene. It's two pages -- and every time I read those two pages, I end up grinning. I love her attitude, her random irreverence, her spontaneity. I love his passion for old books, dusty libraries, his appreciation for a slow fall of winter snow. I love that they come together, briefly.

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