By now, I’m used to ideas coming to me in the middle of the night. In fact, I’m a little disappointed if they don’t. That’s what the tape recorder is for, the one in which I’m taping this reminder of the post for the morning.
As a playing field for ideas, the car is something else. In every Friday’s drive down to my quiet house, nuances of character happen; colors come to the palette. Fragments, sentences make themselves known. The complexities of thought are usually reserved for times in which I don’t need to worry about sailing off a curb into a ditch. As the saying goes, Arrive Alive is the order of the day on Fridays.
The drive back on Sunday afternoon is usually complicated by weariness from the weekend’s work; the need to ask a tired mind to pay closer attention to the safety behind the wheel.
Not this Sunday.
Who’d have thought that I could get pretty much the end of the book, whole? Not every what, but most of the whys. All in the first half of the drive.
I don’t remember much of that first 70 miles. I was careful, I do know that, but I was elsewhere. In two places at once. Time shifting. Watching the wonderful spirals of reason that spun like galaxies in the head. I drove dazzled by richness and logic; drove in an open-eyed joy that made sudden sense of tragedy. A better reason for a character to die.
Suddenly, I have found patience. For a time, at least. The cosmic seeds that still need planting throughout the plot still need careful tending. I am not yet where I need to be. But that hard-won flash in the head is still there. The forced march through previous work to see where new stuff might go has confirmed every good thing I’ve hoped for. That brain-sweat equity of the long long hours of struggling with myself has paid me back.
I’m a writer again.
[The P.S.: I’m going to post the link to Spiritkeeper again, with a few expanded tags that might help direct new attention to it. If you’ve already been there, thank you. If not, you might want to take a look at one of the works that animates this space.]