Writing is a way to fly, an achievable form of fancy, of the imagination. Without the ability to twist language, life would be grounded. Why be chained to the earth when you could soar among the stars?
"At that moment, the urge to be writing was stronger than any notion she had of what she might write."
“It’s as if I’m Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee’s trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then its over.”