I suspect that any vital creative process somehow involves arranging things so that intuition is given pride of place. The individual writer's "craft" might be understood, then, as the process of conspiring to work oneself into the necessary state of mystification, such that one is deferring to the innate energy of the story, rather than overriding it.

Now that that organism has, for good or ill, its own self-sufficient equilibrium, why should I entrust myself to the media? Why continue to mix its breath with mine? I have a well-founded fear that the media, which, because of its current nature, that is, lacking a true vocation for "public interest," would be inclined, carelessly, to restore a private quality to an object that originated precisely to give a less circumscribed meaning to individual experience.

The question of why a writer can make the words on the page come to felt life in one genre but not another--why the gift of expressiveness is extended here while that of appreciation goes there--this question remains unanswerable. For the reader, it is only necessary that gift there be--the one that makes us feel alive to literature and ourselves when subject, writer, and form are brilliantly matched.