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I don’t write books, they write themselves though me
I don’t write books. Books write themselves though me. I only provide a pair of hands and a keyboard.
I believe a book exist before it is written. It exists in energy form, somewhere in the realm of books to be. It lives there waiting to be born. And one day it chooses the person it wants to come though. And it starts sending signals. A writer is simply someone open to receive these signals.
And so, a new book idea starts to take shape. It’s not yet clear so I leave it there to grow. It comes and goes. It dances. And then, after it plays in my mind for a while, it starts pushing, like a baby that’s ready to be born. While at first it was a pleasant thought, the day-dreaming type of ‘What if I one day I write about this’ type of thought, after a while it becomes an uncomfortable companion. I become increasingly haunted by reoccurring thoughts about this book. Fragments of it start coming into my mind and I recognise them because they have this melodic quality to it. It’s almost like sentences form in my mind on a musical background and this is the moment when I know I really have to start paying attention and write them down. Because you see, the Universe at first whispers, then speaks calmly but clearly and, if you still don’t listen, it starts to shout.
Once I listen and write these fragments down, more and more of them arrive. It’s as if the part of the book that has already come into form through the words I have written is calling in the rest. The more I write, the easier the rest comes. I have opened a portal between the worlds and through that portals words come one by one. And then, about half way through, I get the ending of the book. I know it when I get it because it travels through my body like electricity and I feel wired, as if I had stuck two fingers in an socket. It usually has a very strong energy, and I feel both thrilled and relieved. As if I know that now that I have the end in sight, the book will flow easier and faster. And then I have on more high energy moment. It’s when I get the title. The title comes last but before the book is finished. It comes to encompass the essence of the book and I recognise it because it has the same electrical quality to it. When I say these words aloud, the words of the title of my book, the hairs on my arms stand up. And I know I have arrived.
And then all that’s left to do is to make space to write the rest of the words, the words that connect sentences and paragraphs, chapters and sections. The words that come once you invite them to come and once you make time and space for them. They are not asking for much these words. Just three to four hours of time per day, a quiet space and a keyboard.
Ah, and one more thing: a journal. The words that come need a space where they can talk to you. They can’t talk to you in the book because they are the book. They need another space where they can talk to you and tell you what they want. So I always open another document when I write and keep it open on my computer every time I write. It’s called the journal of the book. It’s the place where the book and I talk to each other. The place where the book gets a voice. It tells me what it wants. I tell it how I feel. When I’m tired I tell the book I’m tired and ask for its understanding. When I feel I’ve neglected it, I come back to my journal and tell it I’m sorry. The book always responds. It tells me how it feels too, where it wants to go. It corrects me if it feels I’m talking it astray. It brings me back to the essence of what it is about and it asks me to go forward.
And when I finish it, the book thanks me for it. Sometimes it sends me an image that opens my heart and makes me feel in peace with myself and the word. Because, once a book is born, my mind becomes my own again and I relax knowing I have done once again what I came here, on this earth, to do: write.
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