It’s when you’re in a crowded room and a character catches your attention. You’re curious about this stranger. Who are they? What’s their story? You are intrigued by the mysteries and determine to know more. Throughout the evening you steal brief glances in their direction, but are never able to look for long. Others direct questions at you and you answer half aware, distracted by questions of your own. What colour are those eyes? Is it confidence or arrogance you sense in them? And then, finally, an introduction occurs. You learn basic details, name, job, interests–all of it’s enticing. As conversations continue around you, the character whispers words in your ear. You’re teased with secret glimpses into their soul. You desire more. To be alone. To be free to explore every feature, every nuance of their nature. But sneaking off to a quiet room is impossible. Your presence is required here.
It’s when you wake in the night, restless. Your emotions are stirred. Passions inflamed. You replay conversations over and over in your mind. There’s so much more you want to say, so much more that needs to be said. But time censors you. All the words must remain bottled-up inside. If only you could spill them onto sheets of paper. Those sheets would wrap you in comfort, would bring sound sleep. Instead, the bedding tangles at your feet as you toss and turn, longing for that sweet release.
Never mind writer’s block, have you ever been textually frustrated? This past month I’ve had endless words and stories and ideas bouncing around in my brain. The problem? Zero time to write! And that’s not just the typical cop-out. Circumstances beyond my control have co-opted my time. And, boy, is it ever driving me crazy!
I’d love to hear your thoughts, stories or advice!