I love how language is both elastic and precise, how the written word sounds in your head, and how a constellation of letters looks bizarre if studied for any length of time.
A pile of unread books next to my bed makes me wildly happy. Though, it can sometimes, too, feel a little pressured.
I am much more comfortable tapping out my thoughts on a keyboard than trusting the exceedingly short journey between brain and mouth. Give me a laptop with a delete button over the potential pitfalls of a cocktail party any day.
Unless I’m getting up to see what’s magically appeared in the fridge since my last scouting mission, time spent writing has two speeds: backwards and warp.
Last night I had a nightmare that I went into the bathroom and a man who was part leprechaun part Chuckie doll climbed down the air vent, threw a blanket over my head and tried to pull me into the snug crawl space. When I screamed, it was muffled by the quilt. So I screamed louder.
In real life.
This morning my husband told me that while I went right back to sleep he lay in bed for an hour staring up at the ceiling. I said that was good since somebody had to be sure the man didn’t come back.
Musings from author Erika Raskin.