I await ideas and emotions and the words that hold them. I follow my instincts. These are eternal elements of the creative process. I expect them like visitors on a train. I wait. I practice waiting for them. I open my notebook and hold my pen. I wait. But wait, I write. I move the pen. If my visitor’s train is late I walk up and down the platform, look at the signs, notice what’s around me. I do the same when I move the pen. Words and then more words will come. I wait for them. I receive them in the stream of other words I may or may not keep. This is what I do.
Photo by Engin Akyurt
