Ramblings from a 24 hour writing sprint
I'm into hour four of the London Writers' Salon's 24 hour writing sprint.
I'm sitting here, in my fourth hour of the London Writers' Salon's 24 Hour Writing Sprint. While I know there's no way I'll be able to stay awake for the entire 24 hours of the event, or am even working on anything that I can focus on with this condensed effort, it is really nice to be logged into zoom, putting words out there with hundreds of people from around the world, all of us emitting gorgeous creative energy that's swirling into a collective cloud of ideas and inspiration.
As I write, the event as a whole is in hour seven. I did two hours - sorted some notes, wrote in a journal - before logging out to go feed the dog and myself, and rejoining these last two hours. Or is it three? I can't quite figure it out the numbers.
Not that it matters.
What I've been doing these last two sessions is free writing. I've got something I need to get off my chest, and just pouring out stuff like this often helps clear my emotions. Normally, I'd set a timer, blather a bit, and move on, and maybe not let myself get honest about what I'm feeling, just vent. But with an hour to write, and then another hour, and then as many hours as I need after that, and with people also working, looking at me from the virtual gallery, I feel compelled to keep working after the breaks, to keep exploring what I want to say and why I need to and how I can do it in a way that's honest but also productive.
I've gone from trying to vaguely address the situation in the third person to outright bitching and naming names, and ending with a poem draft that feels like a better way to harness the emotions and turn them into something honest but less caustic.
Less caustic for my soul.
Holding in anger only makes me unsettled, and today I have been unsettled.
But I've gotten it out, and now I'm exhausted.
Sleepy.
Settled.
Or settling, at least.
This situation won't keep me up tonight, and I'm feeling like it's time to leave the sessions and head to bed.
But I also feel like I'm missing something, leaving these strangers behind. Weird. I mean, all we're doing is writing on our own. I can write for an hour on my own anytime I want.
But it's the human connection from across the globe that's been prodding me to stay. I see them, they see me. We see the work happening, we're actually in creative communion, in real time, around the world. I want to be present in this as long as I can.
I cover my yawn and take another sip of tea. Just a few more words.
Just post this to the blog in its raw form, typos and wonky wording and all. Then take the dog out, and then sleep.
I can rejoin in the morning.
The humans will still be there.
Rambling words that make little sense in the darkness, closing out a long day as the winds pick up outside my windows and the dog settles at my feet and my spirit is weary and refreshed.