Wednesday, 28 November 2012

On writing, whenever

Also, I relish the times when it’s super miserable, when I haven’t slept or am hungover. If you can sit down and write when you’re completely uninspired, completely miserable, hating everything you’ve ever written or thought, and just stay in the chair until something happens, then you know you’re going to be OK.

 Michael Fitzegerald (co founder of Submittable)

Write in the good times, when it comes like quicksilver—darting, liquid, cool to the touch. Write in the bad times when you have no words, when your head is sopping with yesterday’s wine and this process is eking, an old towel that needs to be wrung. An old towel tied between donkeys and the donkeys told to walk. Come to the table and open that strange small place and force things out, pick up these cardboard boxes stacked there and walk outside and place them on the other side of the door. Leave them in the street for vagrants and vagabonds to pick through your laundry (these boxes are not your responsibility any more; you did what you could). Step closer to the things from which you flinch, open the palm of your hand, remember that a burn will carry on searing your skin, even once you’ve fled from the source of the flame. All I am asking of you is that you show up and start whispering because maybe your nonsense chants could make sense to the ancient Polynesians, maybe you’re tapping into a chattering seam in the bowels of the earth. I would like you to keep going because I wonder that something is coalescing and figuring out the gaps between matter and dust. I wold like you to keep going because this stuff and these boxes and the donkeys are, just maybe, all that there is: a world, you living in it, trying to craft some structure, some sense out of words.

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