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practice and effort

I am so thirsty, and I wish I knew how to draw.

On Saturday morning, I saw a couple sketches of this little fellow among the drawings the nine-year-old had produced before I got up.

ink drawing of a little running man

I admired this character, who seems to be running somewhere with anxious urgency. “That took no effort,” responded the nine-year-old, scornfully.

Perhaps so, but hours and hours of practice and attentive study of graphic novels and comics enabled the effortlessness of the drawing. I envy this effortlessness.

Drawing of a woman sitting at a table in front of a blank page. Text says, “I am so thirsty, and I wish I knew how to draw.”

Despite years and years of practice, writing almost never feels effortless to me. How I have agonized over these few sentences. I dread sharing them. But I want to practice not just writing, but sharing my writing, which I’ve done inconsistently in recent years. Here goes!