On a Night Like This
“In the old days when he woke at two or three in the morning and knew that sleep would elude him for a couple of hours, he would head to his study to write. He’d pick at his foggy brain in a different way than he did during normal working hours—he’d push scenes in new directions, challenge his characters, re-envision his plot. He liked that slightly groggy state—it made him think differently, and then the next day, in the light of day, he would take his odd ideas and shape them into something us...able.Now he couldn’t imagine writing. He couldn’t imagine inventing characters and scenes and dramas. He wanted to escape from his mind, not to explore it. When writing, even if he was working on a script that was far from his own life, his own circumstances, the deeper he plunged into his characters’ consciousness, the closer he came to himself. He became the serial murderer, the lonely housewife, the grandmother shoplifter, the young boy riding the trains. Now he wanted far away from inner life.But he did think of his computer, still hooked up in his study, and he thought of a middle-of-the-night activity that jolted him out of bed.MoreLess
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