413 words tonight and PJ Harvey’s “Me-Jane” on continuous loop. I don’t know what this thing is that I am writing but there are bastard children, cruel pranks and a house in the center of the city that no one appears to be able to see.
Sometimes I spend days at a time afraid to write, and then, quite suddenly and powerfully, I am afraid not to write. There are always words waiting on me when I arrive. I write them down, hoping they will make a kind of sense.