One thing I have realised, after a few years of writing in the hopes of creating that one masterpiece, is that happiness is detrimental to creation. Not the fleeting kind of joy we get from the small pleasures in life, but the all-consuming happiness that arises from contentment. Happiness just does not provide a fertile-enough mind in which ideas can grow. Though happiness is the final goal every person strives to reach, for an artist, the journey is more rewarding than the goal. The minute an artist gets the impression that he is happy, that he is content, he stops. Rather, his creativity takes a long pause to revel in the newly-achieved happiness and puts a full-stop to the process of generating ideas.
She saw the man sneaking into her garden, headed for the rampions. She sighed. ‘Not again,’ she thought. ‘Weren’t the ones he stole last night enough?” She went down to the castle’s garden and waited for him by the wall.
She didn’t have to wait for long. He came back in a couple of minutes, his arms full of violet rampions. He had a relieved look on his face, which quickly changed to one of terror as she stepped out of the shadows.
“D…Da…Dame G…Gothel!” he stuttered in fear. The rampions fell out of his trembling hands and rolled on the ground around his feet.
“Yes,” she snapped. “How dare you steal anything from my garden! And the rampions, no less! I spend months cultivating them and you steal them all, night after night. You shall pay for this!”