I have finished the fourth volume of the Saturn Ring saga. Now, as I promised myself, I will work for a few weeks on the narrative coherence of the events of all these volumes. This means writing the dates, keeping in mind the passage of time, what the characters said to each other, and making sure that the narrative development is like a sequence of dominoes that fall one after the other, in a natural way, without the artifice of deus ex machina, unless it is intended.

But at this stage of revision, no matter how much I refrain from working on the style and form of sentences, my eye can't help but fall there. As soon as I reread, there goes the editor in me who would change that sentence, that word, that comma.

Stephen King suggests in his wonderful book "On Writing" that we should sharply separate writing from editing. What does that mean? That the first draft must be ugly, unreadable. The first draft is not for others, it is only a suggestion to ourselves, a way to channel creativity in a fluid, iridescent way. That is why it is best to avoid making it beautiful, so as not to fix it.

Another great writer, Chuck Palahniuk, tells how he hates text editing software (like word, for instance) The reason? "Because it already looks good," he says. (I recommend you watch, if you know English, Joe Rogan's incredible interview with Palahniuk, I'll leave the link on the site. Watch out, it's explicit content: #1726 - Chuck Palahniuk - The Joe Rogan Experience | Podcast on Spotify)

In short, you have to remain elastic so that you don't get attached to your ideas. Another English expression is "Kill your darlings," which translated is more or less "Kill your favorites." This phrase means that often the ideas we are most attached to are also the weakest and should be eliminated. in my case, for example, the story of the Ring of Saturn began very differently. It was completed in two volumes. I had to work hard on myself to find the courage to erase that ending, and to produce a new story from its ashes. Who knows, maybe someday I will talk more about it.

This work of self-destruction is delicate and must be exercised with caution and experience. But I must say that I have often found great truth in it. This is not only true in the field of writing. Marco Sciaccaluga, whose student director I was, often suggested that I should not become attached to my directorial ideas.

What, then, is good writing? Is it the themes? Is it the story? Or the prose? Or the form? Obviously, it is a bit of all of that put together, but it is also that talent that allows at every crossroads (and there really are many) to make the "right" choice. But here we get into the metaphysical. What is right or wrong for others I don't know, but I feel that inside me, sometimes, there is a compass that stirs when I get close to something interesting, and that goes out when I find myself in the wilderness.

I would like to sharpen this sense, this excitement that rises when the thread is right. To be able to sense it as soon as it arises, and then above all to have the courage to follow it. I often succeed, but I often find myself struggling with the inner voices that castigate me, that tell me that "no, it's too difficult a choice," or that I might not like it.

You have to have courage, in art. And that courage you will not find in the words of others, but only in yourself.

Do you know methods for not being afraid of inner judgment? To find the courage to follow your intuition? Are there techniques? Meditation, perhaps? I look forward to seeing you in the comments.