This morning I woke, picked up the pen and paper on the hotel nightstand, and wrote down these words: What is it to write from sleeping? To write without ceasing. To hold back the need to edit, the impulse to correct. The penmanship is awful, but that does not matter. The only impulse is to write. The chance to create from a place of great stillness; the greatest stillness next to eternal sleep. Write because there is a fire of great color burning in your heart. The heat is your cousin, … [Read more...]