The creation of a sentence might begin with fish flying through one’s brain or a photograph of dolphins from that last vacation one had with one’s sister. The one where one well and truly realized that one did not wish to see her again. Ever.
It can begin with the scent of roses or the reek from under one’s arms after going three weeks without a shower. It might begin with the pain from stepping on a thistle with bare feet or half-melted snow running down one’s back as one’s so called “love” is laughing his head off.
In either case, the creation takes place and afterwards there is something where there was nothing. The strange and wonderful jump from zero to one has occurred, and although it might not feel like it at the time, there is beauty in that.
A Bolg? 