Sometimes I’ll be driving, or working in the yard, or walking the dogs, and I’ll have an idea for what I should write about for this blog.
I almost never follow through.
In the same way that laying awake sleepless can invite all the ghosts of existential anxiety to your bedside, staring at a computer screen late at night to write summons something far more playful and distracting.
Where night demons tend to funnel the mind into blacker and blacker places of repetitive, almost mantric animal despair, the fae things that help me write my blog before bed ask only:
What if? What if? What if?
The answer, from me or them, is never twice the same.
Makes me think I should use these wee hours to write some fiction.
I almost never follow through.
In the same way that laying awake sleepless can invite all the ghosts of existential anxiety to your bedside, staring at a computer screen late at night to write summons something far more playful and distracting.
Where night demons tend to funnel the mind into blacker and blacker places of repetitive, almost mantric animal despair, the fae things that help me write my blog before bed ask only:
What if? What if? What if?
The answer, from me or them, is never twice the same.
Makes me think I should use these wee hours to write some fiction.
