Continuing to write about writing rather than writing about something is like vacuuming a couch coated with dog hair.
I forget what the rest of the thought was and, truthfully, I forgot why I had this thought, except that I just vacuumed my couch and, while doing so, thought about writing about writing once again.
A friend of mine just published a book about storytelling, yet I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell a story. He’s not a close friend, but there was a time when we talked quite a bit about story. He’s made a few movies–two shorts and a feature film. I am happy for him. I see him as an accomplished writer and filmmaker. But I don’t know anything about his aesthetic. What I do know that structure is important to him. After all, he wrote a book about structure.
I could write about aesthetic, but you wouldn’t know my characters. I could write about my characters, but you wouldn’t necessarily know their story.
Or I could write my story and you and I could both learn about my Self.