I’m supposed to write “morning pages” for my creative writing class.
My pages are whiter in the morning, and more intimidating. Clean sheets. No impressions yet to guide me. Almost bias free. Apart from the dreams, of course – and this is the scary part, since I hardly ever remember my dreams, they could influence me without my knowing.
But I never write in the mornings. This is an exception. I got up 10 minutes earler than usual and decided to have tea. Usually there’s no time for that either.
Yesterday evening I tried to find some poems to read on Friday, when I’m in the finals for Rinkeby poetry slam. It’s the first time I’ve been in an individual slam, so I want it to be good. But I found only two poems that I want to bring. I need five. In a half-desperate attempt I started writing for the stage, but it turned out to be crap, of course. I don’t think you can force things like that.
Today I have a couple of hours between work and KGB. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some writing done then.