Imagination as sleep. "Distracting me from my writing would be like rousing the dead from their sleep." Kafka. (paraphrase).
Writing for oneself: "The best things one writes are for oneself." Ginsberg.
The imagination sleeps and veritably dreams in the act of writing itself, which functions as a trance. Thereby the imagination casts itself upon an ocean of words, and may truly plumb the depths. I meditated on stillness and slumber, i let my story be a resting place for the imagination.
Therefore no more writing for others, to be popular, for friends, for a marketplace, to seem clever. When you begin to think, what if my friend, sister, hero reads this, you become self-conscious. The imagination is stymied and no depths are plumbed at all. My story becomes, once again, a resting place for the imagination, where it may wander and play at will.
Tools of the writer: pen n paper.
Hazards of the writer: excruciating loneliness, paralyzing isolation. Meaningless scribbles of the biro in the lonely room.
Personal faults: procrastination, never finishing anything, lack of faith. No productivity.
Why? Because to produce becomes sickening.