I can’t write. Why can’t I write? Because my thoughts get in the way. All day I think about writing. I get ideas, conversations, visions. It all comes to be in droves. I finally get some time at the end of the day and what do I get? A blank screen. I can’t think, my mind won’t let me. All those witty lines that I had during the day, gone. The wonderful visions of scenic artistry that I wanted to put on to my page, vanished.
I would like to be able to take a moment when I have those flashes of genius and write them down but I can’t. I’m usually driving. If I’m not driving, I’m usually chasing after a kid.
Why is it that such strokes of genius come at the most inconvenient times? Now I have quiet, the perfect time to write. I have nothing now. My story is gone. My characters are in the distant past. Now writing just seems forced, and that’s not the way that I want it.
Now, I will go have some tea and hope that my characters come back for a visit.