I’ve been neglecting my blog again, but I have a good reason. This entry was inspired by something my friend posted on FB.
This is especially apropos for me right now, awake since 4am with day two of yet another migraine hangover after I was wiped out from shortly after 2 on Sunday til sometime Monday morning. I read a little instead of finishing my really good book. And I couldn’t bear to look at the computer screen.
By Monday I had ideas churning in my writing-mode-now brain, but I still couldn’t type because of numb fingers and excruciating pain from not exercising for three days (having deliberately goofed off Saturday, unaware I’d be slammed for two days after and wishing I could get moving). Anyhow, I’m an old-fashioned pen and paper writer, scrawling out most first drafts of prose as well as still most of my poetry despite online prompts, etc. Having just finished typing the book I wrote by hand last summer, I’ve been trying to kick the write-by-hand habit on my next novella “Ramshackled.”
I’m behind in “production” as a publishing artist because of the transcription from journal to Word doc. But I managed to write three pages of novella yesterday – didn’t even remember having done so. The link between my subconscious (a pure artistic impulse, if you will) and a pen in my hand from which uncensored ideas can flow is a deep and long-developed bond that I believe makes me a better (as in less-edited more natural) writer. So I will continue to jot down notes when they pop into my mind, knowing I can pick up on the ideas at another time, but when my hand reaches into the dark out of instinct, the way one reaches for her sleeping lover because his heartbeat suddenly speaks to her, no way I’m going to try to discourage it from “wasting time.” I’d rather sacrifice time than creativity.