honeydunce

It isn’t that I forget, but moreso I can never be reminded enough. Creating means the world to me. Writing especially. I had one of those moments tonight when I sit down and expect a drought but then oh–the stars and luna align and I’m dead to the world for however long it takes me. And there it is, out on the page when I come back to earth. I cannot tell you where I go, or where it comes from, or why this ‘zoning out’ is and will always be my process. It just is. You could sentence me away for good with just a ream and a bundle of pens and my response would be “okay.” Send me gone.

Tonight’s writing proved to be very emotional, and I was surprised by that. I could not get completely through the lines without choking up. So what if that sounds super-dumb to you–if it does then certainly you probably don’t understand much about the creative process, the heart, the ink for blood. I’m saying that there are moments on page where I felt spot on with the connection between inner and outer–I grabbed the corner of this “wave of something” and pinned part of it down. Because for me, feeling inspired is a movement…this internal…graceful fidget that fights to find a way out. I am a translator for it, at best. And this time…I conjugated the verbs right. It doesn’t always happen that fluidly but when it does–dammit, I better take notice.