writing about writing

Yeah I mean I could write something honest but that would be boring. Maybe. Maybe it would be painful, which would probably mean it would be good. But it’s hard to dig out the right words, and once I’ve got them, well, then I’ve got to put them in the right order. Yeah, mostly it’s hard for me. Apart from when it’s not, like when I sit up in bed at midnight, grab my laptop, start writing in some half sleep haze where I can feel the energy of what I want to say brimming in my hands, pushing out of my fingertips. That’s how it feels. Like this frequency I can connect to that helps me translate what I’m feeling and what I want to say, what I want to create, into words, into English. Only issue is it seems like I’m not in control of the radio dial. And I think it’s even harder to find when I’m trying. Sometimes listening to music gets me a little closer, specifically the kind of music I listened to when I was seventeen, music pumped full of the frequency of deep, raw emotion. I know that’s what they felt when they were writing those songs, when they were singing. That elusive frequency. Maybe not so elusive for others, but it is for me. It’s the high I’m always searching for. Always talking about. For my birthday could I have a double dose of the frequency please? Injected right into my veins. Let me write until my fingers stiffen and trigger my nerve pain. Help me please, help me write something honest. Help me find out what that is. What it sounds like. Help me write something that heals me, heals someone else. Help me write something that contains the coordinates for the frequency, so that I don’t lose it again, so that every time I read it I remember the exact numbers to dial, the exact buttons to turn. Help me write something that reminds me I’m a good writer. That I was, and I am, and I will be.

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