The grey light melts into the day. The tulips open up, the fruit trees bud, the birds flutter quietly and everything hangs in the cool early morning breath waiting for the sun. Just before the dawn the world is at its most beautiful.
Writing is like that for me. Slogging through the start of a story until the sun comes out and the words flow. It takes some work to see the sun. I slowly type and labor over each word until suddenly a sentence makes more sense than all the others, and fingers fly to record the roar of thoughts.
Perhaps spring is the wrong allegory. Maybe it’s more like waiting for a train.
The sounds start low and distant. If I slow down I may catch a word or phrase. I can hear the distance closing as the train rushes towards the station. Then the train is there and we’re off! All the words stream through me until…
Then it’s back to the slow, careful slog of most writing. Wrestling the words out from somewhere deep inside until the story is finished.
Writing is working for inspiration, not waiting. I must be aware and awake to catch the big moments. Otherwise I’ll miss them.