“Writing is flying in dreams
When you remember. When you can. When it works.
It’s that easy.”
-Neil Gaiman

How sweet it is.

Severe lack of weekend sleep forced me to fling my alarm clock away, this morning, and by the time I slithered out of bed, my rejected clock and the darkening air told me it was after seven pm. I drove out for some errands and, on the road, something hit me. Hard. I swerved into the next lane and made the turn into Barnes & Noble, bought a coffee, sat at a table, and wrote straight till closing. After an hour and a half of work, I had (in bits and pieces) most of a short story. And it’s good 🙂

Oh giggle, giggle, cackle and wriggle, did that feel good!

Backwards. I had been trying to do things backwards lately. Things felt off. I tried to right them, halting my writing, trying to feel right in order to write (this is a seductive and BS strategy). I was trying to feel right, in order to do…when all I had to do, was do, in order to feel right.

When we don’t do the thing we are supposed to do, things congeal, rigor mortis sets in. All pains become magnified. But when I do that thing, everything else falls away; everything else is easy; everything else is unimportant; everything rolls off me.

It’s better than sex.

Sometimes, I like it better than being loved.