It happens. Not often, but it does.

In the midst of weariness, of brain-friedness from an intense weekend of work, The Moment. A shiver in the heavens. A gift from Nowhere.

The passage that speaks in a clear, perfect voice. The passage that sings.

These are the passages that raise goosebumps; that call up tears. The felicitous combinations of words in mysterious combination that make the writer stop, read, and read again. The how-did-I-do-that passages, so full and rich that they roll up off the page and into the eye under their own steam.

I’ve found these passages in my own work before. In the first published book, it was a passage about a man on a cliff, guided to his act of sacrifice by a will outside of his own. In The Spiritkeeper, it is the final pages of the book, and the realization that comes with them. In this work, the passage of the weekend, a dawning of a humanity stronger than the character’s not-ness.

For writers, in this difficult marriage of labor and inspiration, the moments of pure joy are rare. They are the bright, glorious clearing that one finds after weeks of wandering along dark and meandering paths. We don’t know how we came upon them, or why. We don’t know that we deserve them. We don’t know how to make them happen again. Sometimes we just get lucky.

Those moments of goosebumpery, of “where the hell did that come from?”; those gifts of light…. They are the reason we do what we do. Even if we don’t know how we’ve done what we’ve done.

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