Start somewhere. In the dream perhaps. I generally start nowhere, just with words. A nothing space that looks for a feeling. I was going to say looks for nothing, but that is just not it. It's a feeling. Robert Olen Butler calls it a trance like space. It's calm. I am only the vessel. I am the automaton that lets it flow fingertips to keys, for a while I could only find this state at my pen in the notebook. For now I can do both. It's a little hurky-jerkier here at the keys but when I get stuck I have my pen and my notebook nearby and within a scrawled sentence I am there. Where is it? Another nearby place. The same world yet at the same time there is a flowing of another. So here I am at the keyboard and after reading Robert Olen Butler's first couple of lectures from From Where You Dream, I don't really know how I get there, but I do know when the writing feels right and when it feels wrong. And lately I have my friend, the lord, who visits and I have been using as a muse. He's a Little Lord Fauntleroy-ish and forbidden. A male muse, who would have thought? But he works. He is so petulant and worthless and I always give in and it is enough to get going. Yesterday I left Heather sitting on the bus contemplating her own thoughts and it is her rhythm I need to find when I sit down. Why does blogging help then? I think because there is so much fear involved, so much resistance in the switching over to that darker more raw side (you can't lie in fiction). Because I have a pact with my reading public, I keep it. I make myself go there and I'm willing to keep it playful. I can always come back from that other side, and at least so far I have. So there it is. Be conscious of where you start and then let your unconscious do all the work.
As Always (I wish I were reading),