On Creating

Swirling and stirring. One moment, Hamilton’s hurricane. The next, Mary Oliver’s still pond. All that happens within—it’s hard to distill into words or concrete ideas.

“We are wordsmiths,” an editor once told me. “Smith,” meaning one who heats, treats, and forges. That’s us, alright. Refining and molding and scrapping and scourging work into being. Sure, some days it’s gentler than that. But it’s often a flame we’re dealing with. It’s a dance to know when to wield and when to yield.

Even so, we return to the table again and again. Until, at last, the edges round and the legs stand. And the good and true take shape. A noble pursuit, a worthy craft.

Into the fire we go.