Descending into the Brunel Tunnels, my general impression was that I was walking into a movie set. It’s the kind of place that serves well as the stage for something. Never mind that the acoustics would be terrible, and the trains passing just feet beneath us would interrupt scenes with vibrations and a strange earthly rumble. This place is unlike anywhere I’ve ever seen in London, a stone’s throw from the Thames, and once the source of all forms of underground entertainment on the south side of the river.
My presence in the Brunel Tunnels was perfectly reasonable and permissable, though I’d love to be the kind of person that finds places like that and just goes in anyway; I was there for a book release and reading. Instead, I found myself reconnecting with my passion for writing. Meeting someone my own age who has just published her first novel reminded me why I write (hint: it’s not for the publicity, or I’d have long ago given up).
I write for those few perfect moments where the words just flow out of me. When every sentence is constructed in such a way that I can’t help but put it somewhere, and read it over and over. I think I do this with lots of things: build them up inside me until I have to put them somewhere, but as my own harshest critic, when something passes that multi-reading test, it means that it means something, even if only to me.
Tonight is a medium-speed flow night. Some nights are slow nights, where words are hard to drag out of me. Rarely do I get fast, spot-on nights, and I wonder sometimes if anyone gets those days all the time. If writing were easy, would I keep doing it? Most things I’ve found too simple have become unsatisfying, and I’ve given up at them. Instead, I keep reaching around, finding places to put the little thoughts and the big thoughts, usually those that start with just a sentence or two, sometimes carrying me onward and sometimes petering out after a paragraph or two.
I know I’ve said this a lot, but I have some ideas for how to make this blog actually meaningful to anyone other than me (just because I don’t require publicity doesn’t mean I don’t want this to be a meaningful reading experience for others). I’ll be building up some backlog, practicing and prepping and just trying to get caught up. I can only imagine that when I figure out whatever is next for me, I’ll be able to build routines and schedules that will help carry me forward, practicing with constraints and topics, instead of my beloved rambling.
For now though, we’re all stuck with me, my writing as it is, and the good times (and bad times) I’ve locked away in my small corner of the internet.