The words always sound so much better in my head. The rhythms are there, the beat and sway, the shapes and colors; they all match up so perfectly, so precisely.

Words on paper are dull, trapped. And you get to be so scared that these are the only things you have, these trapped, stifled, stagnating things with no life to them. Writing becomes an exercise in terror, because you know the words are there, alive, but you're too afraid to reach into the depths of that place where they reside and bring them back. Easier by far to collect the corpses of lost ideas and thoughts on the outskirts of that place, that word vault, than to brave those strange and shadowy places where words still dance.

Writing isn't a coward's profession. Artistry of any sort requires courage beyond that which most men can muster.