This needs naming, a bit of extra consideration regarding line breaks, and maybe some kind of annotation to virtue signal the fact that I'm clean and haunted, rather than enhanced and attempting to gain followers for the church of dope.

I was really delighted at how this poem, written in my Signal notes to to self in the middle of the night, dragged itself through my mind with the fully-fledged vision of its world, real and solid and tactile, a peopled and historied place.

This is one of my favourite kinds of flow state while writing, in which the words beneath my fingers must simply describe things that - to some degree - are. These things exist, here and now.

[internally if nowhere else, like the endless city of towers and stairwells and back gardens stacked on tower blocks stacked on river-washed factories]

It's worth losing sleep to pursue that when it imposes itself so dramatically.

#WritingProcess #WritingPoetry #Writing

2/5 Clear out your desk from distractions. Leave only your creative tools in front of you. Switch off the internet.
My creative tools look like this (thankfully, Scrivener does not require a Wi-Fi connection):

#WritingProcess #Productivity #Focus

4/5 Try to work past your writer's block for a full hour.
Brainstorm, write down questions, shuffle post-it notes. Stare into the wall. Pace through the room like a Sherlock Holmes.
Be dramatic.

#WritingProcess #Creativity #WriterBlock