So often, [the] ideal phrase or line of dialogue is more of a discovery than an invention. It is a flash, like the proverbial light bulb above the head depicted in cartoons. This flash of insight doesn’t come from thinking, from the intellect, or from reason; it comes instead from a more mysterious part of our awareness. For that moment at least, it can seem as if time and place and eternity have somehow met.
For the writer, the problem is to find that “peculiar crossroads,” the ever-shifting “location” where insight forms.
And then I thought about Robert Johnson’s famous song “Cross Roads Blues” and the myths that swirl around his early death and the so-called deal he made with the devil and thought, “fuck that, he found a kind of Zen loophole, what made him great and mysterious, people just didn’t understand back then.”
Strange the way thoughts just come together like that for no reason. Ain’t it though?