the magic character, the storm
and the place we are looking for
the person our protagonist wants to be
the ever present flaw, the task, the goal,

show don’t tell
who all the other characters think they are
the main character turns in out hands

write
something
anything

Then it takes off, it flows, it flies, it moves by itself
I can’t keep up, my typing too slow as the story pours out of me scene after scene, pulling me forward, faster and faster, line after line, propelling me, as I miss keys and skip words. tumbling.

Caught in the speed of it
inside of the inside of it

The welling up, the poring out inside the story where I drift watching the unfolding
before my mind knows

as my hands try to keep up with what I see, hear, feel,
know
the miracle of creativity
something from nothing

he – she moves and does and feels, talks and thinks, and it’s not who I meant or how it was supposed to be, the strangest things happen

I don’t know myself till I get to the end of the sentence, the paragraph, the chapter,
the end of an hour, a day,  a timeless limitless effortless loop.

and then

And then

I sit elated, exhausted, with throbbing fingertips

there is a surprising word count
all underlined in red, no punctuation, no capitals, no form

I smile and reach for cold coffee

now

Now I read, and find out what happened.