The brief drops like a challenge. ”Write something bold. Make it sing.” I roll my eyes, “sip” my coffee, and dive into the madness.
My desk explodes into chaos. Sticky notes stick to the walls, the floor, the dust bunnies. Books pile up, pages curling under the weight of half-finished ideas. My browser groans with one hundred and twenty-three tabs. Research spins out of control. One moment, I’m looking at brand guidelines. Next, I’m reading about ancient methods of dyeing fabric and how it symbolized power. Does it matter? No. It’s all fuel.
The first sentence crashes onto the page, raw and unrefined. The second drags behind like a wounded soldier. I laugh because this is what writing is. It’s ugly, relentless, and exhilarating.
Hours blur. Coffee turns to sludge. My playlist cycles through every genre possible, from dark synth to cheerful ska. The chaos grows louder. Paragraphs fight each other, each demanding attention. Some get butchered. Others survive, battered but stronger.
By the time the third draft emerges, it’s not just a story. It’s a living thing, pulsing with energy, refusing to be ignored. The desk looks like static. My brain feels like a battlefield.
When I step back, the result isn’t polished. It’s not supposed to be. Bold isn’t clean or safe. It’s messy, raw, and dangerous. It’s the kind of chaos that leaves you breathless.
Roine chaos isn’t for the faint of heart. It doesn’t tiptoe. It stomps, shouts, and demands to be heard. It thrives in the mess, in the fire, in the noise. And when the dust settles, it leaves something unforgettable behind.
Ok, I’ll admit, it’s not always this messy, but, except for the sticky notes on the dust bunnies, this happens more often than I would like to admit. The process is chaotic, messy and beautiful.
The Roine Playground 
Lämna en kommentar