<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0" xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:googleplay="http://www.google.com/schemas/play-podcasts/1.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[Letters from a Wanderer: On Pleasure]]></title><description><![CDATA[Reflections from quiet mornings and coffee rituals]]></description><link>https://www.lettersfromawanderer.blog/s/on-pleasure</link><image><url>https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!oMfJ!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F7b52962b-35db-4a88-81cb-3485ddb7d9c0_1200x1200.png</url><title>Letters from a Wanderer: On Pleasure</title><link>https://www.lettersfromawanderer.blog/s/on-pleasure</link></image><generator>Substack</generator><lastBuildDate>Sun, 19 Apr 2026 05:45:25 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.lettersfromawanderer.blog/feed" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><copyright><![CDATA[Alex Tapia Studio]]></copyright><language><![CDATA[en]]></language><webMaster><![CDATA[alextapia.writing@substack.com]]></webMaster><itunes:owner><itunes:email><![CDATA[alextapia.writing@substack.com]]></itunes:email><itunes:name><![CDATA[Alex Tapia Writing]]></itunes:name></itunes:owner><itunes:author><![CDATA[Alex Tapia Writing]]></itunes:author><googleplay:owner><![CDATA[alextapia.writing@substack.com]]></googleplay:owner><googleplay:email><![CDATA[alextapia.writing@substack.com]]></googleplay:email><googleplay:author><![CDATA[Alex Tapia Writing]]></googleplay:author><itunes:block><![CDATA[Yes]]></itunes:block><item><title><![CDATA[Letter 01: The Edges of Creativity]]></title><description><![CDATA[Finding Structure in the Unknown]]></description><link>https://www.lettersfromawanderer.blog/p/letter-01-work-with-what-you-have</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.lettersfromawanderer.blog/p/letter-01-work-with-what-you-have</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Alex Tapia Writing]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 05 Nov 2024 20:37:32 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/7d9d7fef-ada7-4385-bf77-74cd770ad2cc_3750x2500.jpeg" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>I&#8217;m working with these words that come to me. I write, and, word by word, I create a sentence; the sentences a paragraph, and the paragraphs a story. </p><p><em>Writing it is like an adventure&#8212;like exploring an unknown land. </em></p><p>I pick one thing from the landscape, look at it, turn it around, wonder how it works, put it together with other things, and see what happens. I observe the limitations the unknown creates and play with them, because &#8220;not knowing&#8221; is what motivates me to write. The unknown is the limitation that invites me to create&#8212;what my creativity needs.</p><p><em>Limitations break things into parts that I can comprehend and work with.</em></p><p>Limitation is the period that creates meaning&#8212;the pause between sentences. That&#8217;s why limitation is essential: it solidifies things. Without a period, words would blend with no start nor end, and they would go on forever and ever, and I would feel lost, not knowing where to go.</p><p><em>Without limits, there is no form.</em></p><p>Creativity needs limits to exist&#8212;a wall to play with, something to bounce back from. Otherwise, creativity spreads endlessly; it becomes everything, and everything becomes nothing.</p><p><em>Limits allow me to experience things&#8212;the edges of life.</em></p><p>Limits are the container walls that allow me to create or experience something. Without gravity or the ground, I could not jump or run. Without this body, I would get lost in an endless space&#8212;with nothing to push from or hold on to, unable to experience other bodies.</p><p></p><h2>Carta 01: Los Bordes de la Creatividad</h2><p><strong>Encontrando estructura en lo desconocido</strong></p><p>Trabajo con estas palabras que vienen a m&#237;. Escribo y, palabra por palabra, creo una oraci&#243;n; las oraciones, un p&#225;rrafo; y los p&#225;rrafos, una historia.</p><p><em>Escribir es como una aventura&#8212;como explorar una tierra desconocida</em>. </p><p>Tomo algo del paisaje, lo observo, le doy vuelta, me pregunto c&#243;mo funciona, lo uno con otras cosas, y veo qu&#233; sucede.Observo las limitaciones que crea lo desconocido y juego con ellas, porque &#8220;no saber&#8221; es lo que me motiva a escribir. Lo desconocido es la limitaci&#243;n que me invita a crear&#8212;lo que mi creatividad necesita.</p><p><em>Las limitaciones dividen las cosas en partes que puedo comprender y con las que puedo trabajar</em>.</p><p>La limitaci&#243;n es el punto que da sentido&#8212;la pausa entre oraciones. Por eso la limitaci&#243;n es esencial: solidifica las cosas. Sin punto, las palabras se mezclar&#237;an sin principio ni fin, continuar&#237;an por siempre, y yo me sentir&#237;a perdido, sin saber hacia d&#243;nde ir.</p><p><em>Sin l&#237;mites, no hay forma.</em></p><p>La creatividad necesita l&#237;mites para existir&#8212;una pared con la que jugar, algo contra lo que rebotar. De lo contrario, la creatividad se esparce infinitamente; se convierte en todo, y todo se convierte en nada.</p><p><em>Los l&#237;mites me permiten experimentar las cosas&#8212;los bordes de la vida.</em></p><p>Los l&#237;mites son las paredes del recipiente que me permiten crear o experimentar algo. Sin gravedad o sin suelo, no podr&#237;a saltar ni correr. Sin este cuerpo, me perder&#237;a en un espacio infinito&#8212;sin nada desde donde impulsarme o a qu&#233; aferrarme, incapaz de experimentar otros cuerpos.</p><p></p>]]></content:encoded></item></channel></rss>