2 posts tagged with "process"

There was a week one autumn when my desk smelled like pencil shavings and cold tea. Rain ticked against the window, a metronome I tried to match with the keys while my plot wandered the neighborhood like a lost dog. I had fifty pages of beautiful lines and no idea where the story needed to go next. Every new scene felt like improvising on a stage with the lights off.

The coffee went cold while the page stayed warm under my wrist—creased, smudged, a little soft at the edges like something carried in a pocket too long. Outside, a trash truck hissed and clanked through the alley, and I circled one sentence twice. The outline wasn’t pretty, but it felt alive, like a trail worn by real feet instead of a brochure.