When reading a new story, you have to hear the silent music in the sentences. Its pacing, as if moving in an inner dance-like performative experience.
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The moves can be measured, disciplined, or quicker and freer. Perhaps it’s best if the hidden music splays itself into interesting rhythmic patterns. The sound hidden but not quite. Then you know you’ve got something quicksilver-like in front of you on the page. Talent.
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But if no one is dancing, as if the party is over, or never actually started in the first place, then you need move on quickly to some other writer who knows how to step out when they write.
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