Ideas come to me in that place somewhere between sleep and awake, which is one of three standard ways in which ideas normally come to me, the others occurring while showering or brushing my teeth. It seems somehow that water or sleep must be involved for me to think.
Maybe I should read a few more craft books, pat myself on the back and only speak to myself in soft, gentle tones. I think there is something truly wrong with me, which makes me very glad, because that must mean I am a writer. And so I keep faith.
Yes, I will stack up the legal pages and watch that sweet yellow pile accumulate. This is my new strategy: Just write. Get it out. The Get It Out Draft. (Someone else coined a phrase like that…Natalie Goldberg in Wild Mind? No…maybe it was Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird? Those craft books are like a warm blanket. I read them looking for great discoveries and insights about writing…little secrets and fantastic blips…things that motivate me and make me feel connected to the paper and pen.) I’m content to muddle through for now. I know everything I turn out is not flowing from a golden pen. It’s okay to write shitty first drafts. (That one is from Anne Lamott for sure.)
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