Jon writes on his blog and takes pictures every day, it’s his passion as well as his work. But when he’s writing a book, it’s somehow different. It’s hard to explain. It’s not a dramatic change, he doesn’t lock himself in his office or turn into Mr. Hyde or, even worse, stop making me lunch. It’s more of an atmospheric or cerebral shift. Something I can feel in the air.
It’s always the same, in the beginning the chapters come slow with long breaks, days of getting it right. Jon asks me to read each version of the chapter as he writes it. Then one day it just clicks and there seems to be less empty space in the house. The whole house buzzes. Outwardly, Jon is lit up, more animated, but I feel like inside him, there’s a whole new world in his head, a world I’ll only get to know by reading about it. He stops handing me his chapters and discussing his ideas and he just writes. There are still breaks, photos, walks, tea, but they are shorter, more concentrated. There’s a feeling of something important to be gotten back to.
I love when this happens. The house seems to vibrate with a creative energy that I can feel from my studio. And the energy and joy is infectious. It eeks it’s way under my skin and into my own work. These are the best creative times, when we’re both caught up in it. Sparks flying between the house and my studio, between me and Jon.