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11 April, 2012

Where does it come from? I’ve looked for it in gin bottles, biscuit barrels, somewhere in the middle distance, out the window somewhere, wandering round the streets at midnight, in the park, sat by the river, on bike rides… all sorts of places.

It can be elusive, staying just outside your grasp. It can be deceitful, letting you rush to your keyboard to frantically start writing until you realise around the middle of the second page that, actually, what you’ve written, that idea you had, it’s all shit. It can be hidden, a whisper you can almost hear but can’t quite work out where from. It can be a nocturnal visitor, arriving in your sleep, convincing you that this really is the one but then fleeing as you wake, leaving just a sense that something great nearly happened.

Elizabeth Gilbert calls it Genius:

The main thing I took from this is that you have to turn up for work regularly so that you are open for business when the Genius calls. You have to meet it halfway. And the harder you work, the more inspiration you seem to have.  It’s almost like the two things are linked…


From → Writing

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