For Sunday, October 25, 2015:
“It seems to me that those songs that have been any good, I have nothing much to do with the writing of them. The words have just crawled down my sleeve and come out on the page.”
This has happened to me with some of my poems. When it does, they need little, if any, further work. They seem to come whole and complete all at once, pouring out onto the page. For me it happens less often with fiction, but I’ve been lucky that there have been a few passages that have come about in the same way.
I don’t know how to explain it, why it happens some times and not others, but it’s an incredible, almost indescribable feeling. I wish I could offer advice or suggestions to make it less ephemeral. All I can say is to capture and celebrate those words, and enjoy the poems or songs or stories that crawl down your sleeve as a result.