Warms My Soul
On the writing that arrives without warning — and the only honest reason to keep doing it.
A small one about why I write. Or rather, about why I can’t not.
It comes to me like epiphanies
It’s like I’m teleporting to the place I need to be
Ironically, the more I think the less I write
I don’t even know if I’m doing it right
I just know it warms my soul — so I keep goin’
The thinking is the enemy of the writing. The more I plan it, the less it shows up. The trick is mostly just to stay near the page until it arrives. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right. That’s fine. The warming is the metric.
— JTC