He himself, naturally, wasn’t happy with the way he was behaving, he was tormented, he tried to calm down, he made not a few efforts to return to being what he had been.
In the end, it’s less about how you set up your metaphors but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach— it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should.
Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility.
This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery and that you tend to them with care.
That’s it. That’s the true secret to metaphor: care.
The practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I may add to its life by introducing it to something else?