Writing (n.) is a little door. Some fantasies, like big pieces of furniture, won't come through.
Writing (n.) is a series of permissions one gives oneself to be expressive in certain ways. To leap. To fly. To fail.
Writing (n.) is an agony marked by a profound uncertainty. One can know the direct passionate response of what one loves and likes, but not if what one writes is good enough.
Writing (n.) is an urge not to self-expressionism but to self-transcendence. It is both bigger and smaller than the author.
Writing (n.) is not just expressing oneself, but rather it is escaping oneself and entering worlds of the other.
Writing (n.) is not mere self-expression. It is a much more complicated activity than that.
Writing (n.) is such that when one writes, one is smarter than themself, because one can rewrite.
Writing's (n.) function is to explode one's subject, to transform it into something else. (writing is a series of transformations).