Emerging forms

Between waking up and sunrise is the time when insight visits for this literary-bug. The narrative path  emerges, inch by inch, from the space between dreamworld and the analytic brain; from the glimmer on the horizon; from the crack of dawn.

Poor Dawn.

Like a blind man searching for the segmentation, the faultlines of Durian or a Grapefruit; probing, carressing, massaging, polishing until the composite pieces emerge whole from the darkness, ready for consumption.

Like a sculptor with chisel and mallet; his block of quarried granite mute before him. A strike here, there- divots a thousandfold. The dust of dissolved words fills the air. To know the rock and find its hidden form.

This morning my introduction fell apart into two chapters. I have been working on it for a couple of months and it had grown to ten thousand words. Yesterday it awoke with a small preface nestling in its shadow. It was sagging under its own weight and as I awoke I found the hairline crack that had been running through it the whole time. It was even staring from its title: The Gurindji and the Cattlemen. Now another few weeks to cleave the two apart and polish them until they glow in the rays of the rising sun.

~ by 1charlieward on May 15, 2011.