How to grow a forest, how to conjure a dusk

It’s that time again, late at night, dark and silent (other than this wind howling down the chimney) and the slow trickle and drip of ideas, thoughts emerging, possibilities surfacing and fading away.

We’re moving towards something totally new for us:  a script, a screenplay, a structure, a concrete dream of the thing before we start rehearsing the thing.  Something down, a starting point, a seed.  A sapling.  Fertile ground to grow a project in.  But how do you grow a forest, at dusk, or in the dark, in the silence (with just this wind howling)?  How do you know which path to follow, when, even with that map you’ve made, all routes seem dark and strange?

Or, how do you keep the darkness, the productive, fertile darkness alive, and the strangeness alive, at the same time as writing out the thing, mapping it, fixing it.  Trying not to fix it.  Trying to keep it alive.  How to lose yourself as your find yourself, that’s what we’re asking ourselves now.  How to grow a forest.  How to conjure Dusk.

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