Then began the process, the circling, the sneaking up on the task slowly, trying not to scare it off, checking it was safe, making sure it wouldn’t bite.
And then, ‘OK, God, so what am I going to write? An article for work? A blog post? No, I want to write some thing that I actually care about. I want to write the thing that I’m supposed to write – or at least something that begins to open the door to what I’m supposed to write.’
A play. A radio play. I can write a radio play.
And so I did. It was 6am by the time I touched fingers to keys, having firmly told myself to get over the fact that this is not going to be 1984, or The West Wing – not even one of those later episodes after Aaron Sorkin had left. But it will be me. It will be mine, and that’s what I’m after, after all.
I wrote for 90mins, and had to force myself to stop and get ready for work – the words flowed. Not great words, but good enough words for a first draft. 1,253 of them. Not a bad start.
It’s lunch time now, and I’m feeling a little bleary – beginning to wish I liked coffee, as I’m reliably assured it’s a wonder-drug – but you know what? I think I could do it again. Which is lucky, since that’s Jeff’s challenge for tomorrow, too (the fiend!).
“Start writing”, he says, “Not just what’s comfortable, but what you were meant to write.”
What I was meant to write…what is that? The elusive mystery, that is getting primed and ready to burst out any day now. I don’t yet quite know what I am meant to write, but I know that I am meant to write, so tomorrow, at 5:10am, that’s where you’ll find me.