Writing in the dark

I’m so tired. The plans I thought I had for writing ended up not being plans at all. But instead I messaged a friend in need, who after all is a friend indeed. And now it’s almost 11. And I’m here trying to write the truest sentence I know, trying to string one coherent line after another. It’s a bit like fishing. Except it’s not. Because in fishing you attach the bait, cast the reel and sit down to wait and you listen as hard as you can with the reel for any bites. But when you write, the bait just disappears into your subconscious. There’s no waiting for a bite. You can’t tell when some good prompt will appear or an image or an idea.

Sometimes they just flitter by and you don’t even recognize it for what it’s worth. And you tell yourself another one will come by. Then days and weeks and months can go by if you ever see an idea again; if at all. The worst part is that to catch something, you need to work. You need to work in a way that is unconventional and opposite to everything you’re taught and damn well know.

You need to work hard at not thinking about what you’re writing or what you need to write or when that deadline is due or how to say what you want to say. You need to just write one true sentence after another, the truest sentence that pops into your head, and then maybe that elusive cod will show up. You’re putting out line after line, reel after reel, and bait after bait. And then you do your darn-dest not to look. That’s what writing feels like for me at the moment anyhow.