It was a feeling like nostalgia, but for something I’d never done. Something I’d never had.
As an author, I feel this constantly. I write experiences for my characters, and often they’re experiences I’ve never even come close to encountering. A romantic date, a delicious meal, a beautiful gown – I end up feeling a sense of memory for something I’ve never done, and probably never well. It’s one of the best and worst parts of being a writer. I recently went to the effort of writing the menu for a meal that’s meant to be delicious and technically impressive, truly one-of-a-kind… and then I looked in my own fridge, and all I had was a bag of shredded cheese and a hard-boiled egg. But at least I got to imagine what it would be like to sit at that groaning table covered in tiny plates…
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