Writing through the next twelve days before I get on a plane to a private conference in an almost absurdly remote location. Looking for the flowstate, which is a term I just lifted from Nick Harkaway’s GNOMON, because it fits so well. In writing, you hope for that magic hour where everything just fits and “all the synchronicities are winking” (that’s from Jamie Delano, I think) and time drops away and it’s just you and the stream of words that are effortless and right and good.
(And then you look at them a day or two later and no, they’re not all good, but that’s okay, because now it’s all out in front of you and you can fix it before anyone else can see it and recognise you for the obvious idiot you are.)
It’s close. I can feel it. It better be. I’m finishing the second volume of the thing below, which has its first volume released next month.
I don’t mind the days of chipping at the rock to find the sculpture hidden inside. I don’t mind the days of solving problems like a codebreaker, hunched over the notepad and scribbling numbers and maps and arrows. But I want to live in the flowstate.