Then I started thinking about ceramics. Standing there in that shop, which was also a kind of workshop, it hit me how similar it is to writing. You start with a lump of something — ceramics: clay / writing: idea — and you try to shape it into something that makes sense. Sometimes it works, sometimes it falls apart halfway through. You mess with it, rework it, maybe start over completely.
Even when you think you’ve got it, it still has to go through the heat — or editing — and you never know exactly how it’ll come out. Things might crack, just like with writing. You put it down on the page, think it’s done, then look at it again and realize the tone is off or it doesn’t even say what you thought it did.
There’s also this point where you just have to stop fiddling with it. Clay dries out. Writing stiffens up, too, if you overwork it. You do what you can, and then you let it be — flaws and all. It’s never going to be perfect, but if it holds together and does its job, that’s usually good enough.
