The discipline of art

It's easy to think that writing is effortless. Everyday you talk words, you think words, therefore you should be able to write words without a problem. But writing is not just spewing out a lava of words to make a paragraph, the way talking sometimes is. If you want to make a conversation, well then sure, keep talking. But if you want to create literary work, hold back, tread thoughtfully, let ideas unfold on their own, let characters simply become. And that is art, and it takes discipline. Which I don't have.

I dream of slipping into my own world, though. I understand different worlds very well. I can tell if I'm being invited to enter a different reality, or just being manipulated by a cheap pocketbook. I can see where the seams of a make-believe world rip, and I can tell if it will hold to the end. I take pleasure in a creation I can willingly escape to, from chapter to chapter, until the last page.

I wonder, if I tried, what kind of world I would come up with, or if I could. I keep blaming my lack of discipline; maybe it's a lack of courage. If I was brave enough, where would it take us?