I’ve often described writing like giving birth - even though I don’t know what that’s like.
Yet.
But I imagine it begins the way inspiration hits me - Sudden. Out of the blue. An urgent call for my undivided attention.
Drop everything and prepare to transform.
The laboring of a piece is painfully beautiful. My heart races and goosebumps raise the baby hairs on my arms as I mine to the core of my being - to the truest version of myself before the world touched me.
I follow the keys of my keyboard all. the. way. home.
I excavate the smallest of details - the stories, and I bring them to the surface one by one. I tie them to the loom and then I spin them into gold like my life depends on it.
Because it does.
When a piece is finally born, I look at the clock to record the time. I am exhausted, but adrenaline buzzes beneath my skin.
Once again, I am reborn.
Yessss mamaaaaa! This is EVERYTHING 🔥🔥🔥