Writing is usually a matter of sitting with a blank sheet, a blank computer screen, and spreading words like seeds on a field.
Pause – reflect – write.
What is lost in the pauses? When we think, then write, what thoughts did we lose?
Thoughts can be like dreams: An insight is reached during a reverie, and – what was that again? What did I just realize?
What marvelous character just burst into being? What exotic adventure was I on? No, no, no, I’ve forgotten already.
But it was so real, so vivid, so vibrant, I could almost smell the desert air, feel the wet swamp atmosphere in my lungs …
What we memorialize in our art is just a glimpse of what we saw in our soul. That is the frustration. That is the miracle.