Last night, around 11pm,  somewhere between one too many coffees and the point where my mind stopped denying my body needs sleep, I hit a perfect storm. One of those rare moments when everything just clicks into place. A moment when my fingers found the words before my brain even processes the thoughts which put them there. A moment when the streams of consciousness ran uninterrupted from the highlands of my imagination and fed a hundred tributaries into the great river of narrative.  A moment when writing was so easy and so all-consuming that every distraction, every procrastination, everything else beyond the keyboard and screen before me just melted away. A perfect moment, a perfect storm, and then it just held me there, caught within its thrawl, while the words flowed around me. Which reminded me fleetingly of Van Gogh, for when the storm raged it had been beautiful and terrifying, sweeping me along.

At some point, I believe it was about 3 am, the storm ended. Mainly it ended because of my need for sleep becoming overwhelming. In truth, the storm still raged as I lay in my bed trying and failing to sleep. Lighting flashes of inspiration wanting to be earthed to the page but these were just a mere squawl, the after storm wind and rain that takes its time to fade away. My exhaustion overwhelmed them in no time, and I fell into a fitful dark sleep…

When the morning alarm sounded too soon, I was no less exhausted than I had been when I finally forced myself to bed the night before. I was late to work, far later than I usually am. My brain still dizzy, still feeling like it had been on fire, a dull headache brewing, a need for caffeine just to function. It has taken till not to be able to process the wreckage left behind by the storm. So only now as I read through the words I struck against the anvil of my keyboard last night can I see what was achieved.

Some six thousand new words, three chapters redone, renewed and the whole curve of narrative flow against which I had fought for what seems like months has been altered down it new course. I think I have finally fixed the thing I knew was wrong but could not name nor see. I think I can ride the afterglow of this storm all the way to the great sea.

Storms are destructive, violent, and destroy much in their wake. Even a perfect storm creates much destruction in its wake. But destruction is a powerful creative force in its own right, and sometimes as a writer, they are exactly what you need. The trouble is you can not call them forth. You can’t demand they happen, you can’t even tempt them towards you. You just have to open up your word file, or lift your pen to paper, try to write and see what happens. Sometimes you get no more than a smattering of rain, a light drizzle, and sometimes the rain doesn’t come at all. But there is no point in hiding beneath umbrella’s, you have to get your hair wet one way or another. And if you let the rain come you may find yourself in a torrent, if you’re lucky.

Last night I hit a perfect storm…  and it was wonderful…