Writer's High. That's what it was. If you've ever had it, you know just what I'm talking about and you'll chase it, catch it, and lose it again on a continuous cycle--forever. If you've never had it, it's what I would classify as a bonafied "peak experience". If you're not a word junkie and can't imagine why or how anyone could or would chase it (or that it's a real phenomenon), I understand. I've never had Runner's High for exactly the same list of reasons.
While shuffling through my "shitty first drafts" (By the way, that's a technical term as well as a chapter title in the best ever book for writers, "Bird By Bird" by Anne LaMott, thanks again J for turning me on to it so many years ago.) I happened upon a "just put your ass in the chair and write anything" sort of entry on a printed page. It had nothing to do with the project, it was just sharing a page with something else that did.
Anya, circa July 4, 2000:
"My friends have changed. And, I guess I have too. One in particular, and drastically. It's odd. It makes me feel like--how it might feel waking up on the subway next to the stranger you have always been on the same redline car with every Monday through Friday evening between 5:47 and 5:54 p.m. for the past three years. A twisted, blip of confused moments-- suddenly realizing you've been asleep, that your'not in your own home, that you're looking at someone you've consciously known--by face alone. A person you've never heard utter a word, not so much as a sneeze--jerking back into consciousness, almost falling to the floor snapping out of the narcoleptic fit. That's what happened to a guy I know. Now let me go on and start this play I've got to write."
Now. How can I not remember who in the WORLD I was talking about? It was so cryptic, yet specific and I can't snatch the memory file from my thinker.
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