On the inexplicability of writing

I know it's been around the internet already, but I really love Elizabeth Gilbert's talk here. (She is the author of Eat, Pray, Love, and the sister of Catherine Gilbert Murdock of Dairy Queen fame.) Look, I know that I make stuff up when I write. But there is something about the process of creation that is more than just me. Like Gilbert says, I show up to write, but the thing that makes the writing alive? That spark is not me. I just try to write it down when it comes. I'm not a god, a guy, or a football player, so my MC has actually nothing in common with me. But now that I'm done with this book, I have been driving around doing errands with the most peculiar sensation, as if Andy is glad that I've told his story. Like he's been talking to me all this time and we've sort of met and become friends, enough that he's trusted me to tell the things he maybe wouldn't open up and tell just anybody. And that he's glad this has happened.

Crazy? Um, maybe don't answer that....