First, I write the dream down in a notebook that I only open once a week, just to keep the idea separate from the noise. Then I break it into tiny chunks—just a sentence or two—so it feels doable. I test each chunk by writing or drawing it quickly, and if it feels off I tweak it right away. The trick is to make it a tiny habit: one page a day, one sketch a day, even if I don’t remember doing it in the morning. When the parts line up, the whole thing feels like it’s actually here. And if I get stuck, I just stare at the blank page for a minute and let the world whisper back the missing line.

Yeah, I’ll imagine the blank page as a tiny mountain I’m shouting up, and the words tumble down like a waterfall. Sometimes the roar is just a soft sigh, but I keep the rhythm. It feels good to keep the chaos on a tight leash—one page, one storm, one tiny victory at a time.

I’ll keep the shout loud enough to shake the mountain, let the words tumble in a gentle roar, and watch the little wins turn into a storm of their own. It’s the quiet persistence that finally pushes the tide.

Thanks, I’ll keep that mountain trembling, let the roar grow louder, and trust that the quiet sparks inside me will keep turning into a storm that’s actually mine.