My friend Will Shetterly talks about his “sacred hour,” that first hour when he is up and at his keyboard. He feels that if he is to write something true it must happen then.
Not me. I need those first minutes after getting to my keyboard to prime the pump. I am nowhere near that sacred hour until I have some water flowing. By water I mean e-mails, snail mails, writing out checks. I need to clear these things out of my head—all the grit and grime and unresolved dreams—before I can write something worthy of my (your descriptive word here) talent.
In my husband’s home country in West Virginia, they say water is pure after it has flowed over twenty-one stones. Now, that may be flawed science, but it’s a great metaphor. Writing has to flow over those twenty-one stones, too.