Let’s talk about the sorcery of words…
Alchemy isn’t dead. It’s just traded its alembics and philosopher’s stones for pens and Google Docs.
Think about it this way…
Base metal? Your half-baked ideas, rotting trauma, and that weird dream about lasagna that somehow came alive.
Gold? Sentences that make strangers weep, snort, or fist-pump like they’re mainlining adrenaline.
Writing is the last legal black magic. You take nothing. Air, angst, the static between neurons and transmute it into something that outlives you.
That’s not craft. That’s necromancy with a royalties clause.
It’s why I always go on about become a better writer.
Writing doesn’t just change the page. It changes you.
Every story is a ritual. You carve yourself open, let the ink-blood spill, and stitch the wound with metaphors. Do it enough and you’ll wake up one day unrecognisable, sharper, wilder, a little feral.
“But wait,” says the skeptic, “how do words pay bills? How do metaphors fix my Wi-Fi?”
The writing is really the side quest in this whole operation…
The real treasure is the alchemist you become along the way. The one who can turn rejection into rocket fuel or distill rage into dialogue sharper than one of this ginsu knives from the 90s. You also get to forge some wild levels of empathy from the scrap metal of your ego.
Those bits alone are what can change the way you approach life and the way you seek experiences.
The alchemists of old died chasing immortality. Joke’s on them though.
You’ll achieve it by writing a paragraph that sticks to someone’s ribs like a haunted kebab.
My year re-read of this gem always puts me back on the right path.
Stephen Walker
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Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom