A tree that can fill the span of a man's arms grows from a downy tip; a terrace nine stories high rises from hodfuls of earth; a journey of a thousand miles starts from beneath one's feet..
I read every day and write even if it's only a few words. I don't feel otherwise that the world is quite right. I tend to go where my imagination takes me whether it's walking the solitary writer's road or in a busy place watching people.
A final story or poem usually comes from several pieces of writing which I've woven together from different times and places. It's rare that I can write a poem which is fully formed at the outset, whereas non fiction seems to live easily in it's own space.
Writing about characters and plot I see in the mind's eye is fascinating. If I'm lucky enough then to be on holiday and can look out from a Greek taverna, or walk in the green tinged light of Venice, it becomes a completely different story because of the venue.
The source of creative flow has never been clear. There's a mystique to it, but I suspect that favourite poets such as Yeats couldn't have captured the right words without living their own individual experience:
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Do places influence your stories and poems more than people, or is it a combination of both? How does the creative magic work for you?