To start this very abruptly: I'm not the one I was in childhood and my young adult years, but I'm still the same. At least my written words rely on a teenage spirit to express myself. The thing to say is that the transference from a young childhood of a real empty feeling in the stomach over to the teenage years and an explosion of bacchusian feeling and storm in the heart is a real one. As years have gone by, I try to find the guts I had in my teenage years to be a real individual and a one that isn't what the rest are. So, my raw model for my writing is a younger self that is more independent than I have managed to be as a middle aged man.
When it comes to my writing, I always have emotion for writing when I write, and many times I have some ideas about what it will be. But the real art for me is when I come to a point where I say to myself that now something needs to happen that I don't have the answer to in my sensible self, which often happens when I write. It's then that I start to search within myself with eyes inside my brain and with ears both inside and outside of myself, and the funny thing is that I never get disappointed. The answers I get from such searching in my inner self, however, don't explain how and in what sense I should use the words and phrases that I have found, that right on the spot of the text I'm writing most often are unexplainable. These words and phrases I have found change the poetry-narrative, and it's only with complete responsiveness to the worth of this that I can put that in a context that it the words and the phrases make to a new context. I think we can say that my books are a floating boat with ever so often a changing context. To be to the point, this is simply the art of becoming surprised with what the unconscious self can have in preparation for a self if I think I sit with every truth in my own mental consciousness. This might sound simple and fantastic at the same time, I can see that, but it takes bravery to trust it, and there is a lesson to do from this. That is that it is you, the one that sits there and writes your words that have the only real authority what you mean and how you will place the words and communicate however much you are a master of manipulating a subconscious self, that you nevertheless can't explain if you don't do it with your own awareness.
But remember, though, that you are the only one that can reject words from your subconscious. I have lately discovered that my own education of myself has affected my subconscious heavily. My subconscious has simply learned that poetry is the thing and learned a language that answers today too much that I often don't trust. I still use the same method, but I'm suspicious over my brain and it's enthusiasm to push one phrase after the other compared to when I wrote Another Side of Thoughts back in 2012 when I needed to wait and had to listen many minutes for me to get a single word and continuation when I needed a surprise. Then today, the traps are more obvious with the way I write, and the art of selection really begins to be important, and there again, it is only my mental awareness and moderation that I can trust. So I understand that methods are very important when I write. Still, I defy all kinds of programs (because the subconscious is a program) that think it can answer for me when I rather
will subvert every such program even when it comes from my own self and education of myself. Therefore I stick to the truth from my teenage years when I started to write poems. It must simply be alive and living life and not machinery, and that is the only rule I have ever relied on.
If I have a tip for authors, it is that to try to write as little as possible from a pure will about what you want to express. To write from a pure will is also a program, settled and boring, and has very little with art to do.
Be young and old whenever you need to and whenever you like to, and if you get an answer on yourself that you are very young when you should be old, trust that your young self understands things that will save you from the cliff hanger you, at the moment, hangs from.