I scribble the word past midnight, over and over and over again. Knowing I should get some sleep. Gripped with a hunger (yes I know that sounds unnecessarily dramatic, yet I really do feel taken by this in the most extreme way) so yes, gripped with a hunger to understand more about how exactly one gives birth to a magazine? I know what a flatplan is now, and having always loved maps, I am delighted with the thought of it. I rip up ideas and float them around on the floor, inspired by the way Jo puts words together to paint her stories, every action of mine triggered by something she has insinuated or dreamt.
The beginning of a creative project is always chaotic and accelerated for me. Ideas come more quickly than I can grasp them, capricious and loud. I find myself talking too fast, not at all concerned about making sense or connections yet. Taking lots of notes, doodles, lines pointing to words wrapped around pockets of things tied together with string. At some point we'll let the quieter ones fall away, and begin to see the shape of this new world; brave, colourful and generous. Soon we'll search for treasure, but for now I love the mystery and bedlam that comes at the beginning of it all.