I've spent the past two days in a sort of binary mode. Extreme, almost ravenous (except of course that word's a little off since I'm not consuming, I'm producing) creative energy--or sleep. I'm at Tom's house in Massachusetts, mostly hidden away in bedrooms. I really, really need a better place to write in general. During the times when everyone's asleep or out skiing or whatever, it's so extraordinary to be isolated in this house for hours, writing steadily. The last time I felt this energetic was about a year ago, almost exactly, when I spent two weeks alone in a house in the woods. Does anyone know any wealthy people who let writers, or would let a writer, crash in their house (perhaps care for their house) for some extended period of time and write?
Not only am I dying to see Bronson, but I've become obsessed with that classic Pet Shop Boys song in the trailer, "It's A Sin." It'd been years since I last heard it. I forgot what it reminded me of... it's Cat Stevens' "Wild World."
What I've been working on is a project that came to me suddenly and is an experiment, I guess. In terms of how much I usually write in one sitting or one day, I've written an astonishing amount in the past 48 hours. But as a fraction of all the things I still need to be doing, it's a bit.
update: Taking a break from writing at 2 am Saturday night. My mind is just churning lately, I feel like I'm expending too much energy and I'll die young when my brain runs out or something. But are they even good ideas I'm generating? Tonight I ran outside naked for a little while in the deep-ish snow (wearing shoes). It was amazing. I'm going to do it again. Briefly exhilarated. Before that (clothed) found a frozen creek and cracked the ice with a makeshift stave.