Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Writing In The Dark
Writing words in the pitch black, letting free an idea shaped in those moments when the mind quiets onto your pillow, they have no shape. The words have no line, formless, joining the blackness. From your hands motion, they are released. All you have is the point of your pencil, all you have is the grasp of your hand, all you have is the words fresh in your mind, gasping. What would it mean to not write words in the dark, but to instead draw out feelings?
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2 comments:
Sometimes I write in the dark too, not literally as you suggest, but I get up at 4am when it's very dark outside in this season, and do writing which doesn't depend on the sensuous stimulation of sunshine, clouds and daylight generally.
Night would be ideal for doing pure mathematics, or writing a computer program or - in the style of Blaise Pascal - engaging in theological speculations, though personally I have exploded this latter pastime with the bright dazzle of scepticism.
But I find the brain works differently at night. Not a good time to tease out feelings in solitary introspection. Things get out of proportion, and the next morning evaporate like dew.
But perhaps . . .
I've heard that the poet Jorie Graham sometimes writes in pitch black and deciphers her text later
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