I sometimes doubt my words.
I started a story this morning that turned out to be about a magical tree. A magical tree? Hasn’t that been done already? Done and done, as they say.
Almost before I had written the first sentence a little voice in my brain said, “That story’s been told. You are not doing anything new. Who’s going to care?”
All I have are words.
Playwright Sarah Ruhl, in her wonderful book 100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write: On Umbrellas and Sword Fights, Parades and Dogs, Fire Alarms, Children, and Theater, says this:
If it is true that there is nothing new under the sun and that there are only two or three basic human stories worth telling, then the contribution of the playwright is not necessarily the story itself but the way the story is told, word for word. (p…
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