That’s what I want to do. Write vivid fiction. Stories. And other things on the page.
Tonight I sat down for a few hours and worked out some new scenes for my most recent play. Before that, I went for a walk after a long day of work in a series of some other ones and felt almost magnetically pulled away from the computer and other forms of technology to sit on the floor and frantically scratch out some scenes on graph paper, the medium on which I feel most free. Perhaps because I’m forced to write out of the box. Most freedom comes with restraint, and creativity emerges when a problem needs to be solved (like how to blacken the page or connect the dots).
It was nice to write. For the hand to ache and clench holding the pen. For the cartilage in the jaw to crack around the marrow while working out a thought. For the mind to drip the blood of a few ideas.
The bottle-cap hula girl below the magnetic poetry my muse. The fridge the conspirator of thought.
© 2009 Andrew Kooman