Earlier this evening I started re-reading Natalie Goldberg’s wonderful book, ‘Writing Down the Bones.’ I return to this book whenever my writing feels tired and in need of a burst of energy. After two chapters I turned off the light, falling quickly into sleep. But, as often happens, I awoke after a few hours, my brain wide awake.
Unable to go back to sleep I’m writing because I can. I have no idea why this happens, but when I’m not booked to work as a relief teacher next day I feel free to write whenever the urge takes me. In these early hours, freshened after a few hours sleep, ideas dance into my head, not waiting to be invited. With no other external factors demanding my attention, writing knows it has my full attention.
Nothing else is important at this time. While my immediate world stands still, energy returns. Like the caterpillar waiting to be transformed into a butterfly, I’m cocooned in the quietness of early morning darkness, with nothing else forcing its attention upon me. My only companion is the gentle breeze outside, gently sweeping away the abandoned thoughts of yesterday, like the sea washing away footprints on the sand.
It is one o’clock in the morning and I write because I can.