RED LIGHT NIGHT WRITER
'The Red Light Night Writer'... a taboo use of phrasing, however, it was my creative environment during a dark, rather vulnerable year of my life. A night would not go by without the flickering of crimson expelling through the crack in my cream, bedroom curtains and the distant, antiquated sound of a pen on thick, expensive paper, bound in Italian leather.
Once the entirety of the household had retired for the night, I would slip out from under my duvet, flick the switch by the foot of my bed to illuminate my artistic haven in red and pull out a packet of Marlboro Gold from my underwear draw. Cracking the window ajar, I'd hastily match light my vice and with Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers playing in one ear, I would begin a night long process of painting, sketching, novel planning or poetry... sometimes all in one night, sometimes giving special attention to only one. It was enough to physically and emotionally exhaust me for the day following, a lot of the night I would be in tears, but it would be worth it, as in those twilight hours, the best of my juices would flow and reek havoc on the pages of what I nicknamed my 'Little Black Book, vol. One'- a book yet to be completed and still cherished.
16 was simultaneously a tragically tough year for me, as well as one of my most rewarding creatively, two years have gone by and I feel I'm yet to live up to my own standards of that year.
A creative block is understandable when someone often thrives in chaos and difficult environments, yet now finds themselves in a tame, safe vortex.
Once the entirety of the household had retired for the night, I would slip out from under my duvet, flick the switch by the foot of my bed to illuminate my artistic haven in red and pull out a packet of Marlboro Gold from my underwear draw. Cracking the window ajar, I'd hastily match light my vice and with Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers playing in one ear, I would begin a night long process of painting, sketching, novel planning or poetry... sometimes all in one night, sometimes giving special attention to only one. It was enough to physically and emotionally exhaust me for the day following, a lot of the night I would be in tears, but it would be worth it, as in those twilight hours, the best of my juices would flow and reek havoc on the pages of what I nicknamed my 'Little Black Book, vol. One'- a book yet to be completed and still cherished.
16 was simultaneously a tragically tough year for me, as well as one of my most rewarding creatively, two years have gone by and I feel I'm yet to live up to my own standards of that year.
A creative block is understandable when someone often thrives in chaos and difficult environments, yet now finds themselves in a tame, safe vortex.
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