I write in the dark at night in bed on my phone or laptop after the kids are asleep. Often almost completely prone. I’ve tried to write during the day, sitting up, in other places, but the noise and light and jostle erase it all. I require complete silence to concentrate, complete stillness to focus, complete darkness to see the things.
During lunch I put on my headphones and walk on the city streets. I think then about what I will write at night. I used to take notes compulsively afraid that the ideas would fade. Now I let the ideas wash up and wash back. They arrive. They recede. I no longer try to catch them. Sometimes things are born slowly. Maybe all things are.
Writing shows me where I’m at a dead end. I tried to write a story last year which kept trying to turn itself into something I knew nothing about. I guess I wanted to know about it. I guess I’ve found out.