I've just watched this again, for who knows how what time it's up to by now.
The Green Book Materials.
Which has now led to listening to this.
34 Ghosts IV
Which, indirectly, has brought me to this place, a place I only just realised that I've been to before. The Sydney Opera House - smaller than I anticipated, but majestic nonetheless.
Listening to pieces like this help as well and for a moment, if you close your eyes, dream big and realise small - you can almost be in the moment. A moment, mind you, that exists more perfectly in my head than I'm sure reality could re-create, but I'd be willing to give it a try.
Later.
Oh, how I love these people. How I love picking up pages I know represent their story from beginning to end with all of the glorious and the ugly in between. The ugly is important because it's only when we have pain and loss and mourning and despair that Annie's wisdom is truly applicable. There can be no recognition of sun and light without the dark. When you're writing light, it needs to burst with its force and the same needs to be true of the flip side - when you're in those dark moments, if you can't catch on to what the cry of the character's heart is in that moment, then no word written will ever have any truth to it at all. And it's hard, because you feel it. You feel the ferocity and the sadness and the longing of those empty times, because you're creating them. But then. But then. The pay-off. The overwhelming reward. The joy you get to shape - it's expansive. It's incredible. It's addictive, that's for sure.
Ok. Just finished sequence 3 and clocked in at 89 pages. Ohhhh. This is not, in any way, shape or form, a good sign.
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