I have been out of sorts. Words have failed me. I sit to write…I sit…and…it is all jumbled up. I feel like I am riding a bike like Ms. Gulch from the Wizard of Oz in Dorothy’s vision of the tornado. Peddling fast going nowhere while everything spins around me. I reach for words only to have them slip through my fingers. To get a hold of them, to wrestle them onto the page is exhausting. But oh the reward is so sweet when the page begins to fill with ticks and tiddles of letters, those letters turning into words, and those words in turn coming to life.
“You can make anything by writing.”
Sometimes it is my attitude that limits my creativity. Other times it is the outside influence of people or circumstance, some within my control, others not. As a writer it is important, no vital to write everyday. I have noticed an empty, lonely feeling in my heart and mind when I don’t write. Similar to the feeling of not seeing my dear friend for weeks You cherish the time you have together, and long for those moments. I think for me, that is how writing is. A longing, a time cherished, a release of thoughts and feelings only the blank page can understand.
“Words are a lens to focus one’s mind.”
– Ayn Rand
Then, a flick, a spark ignites the process. A small ember glows, words form one by one. I sit, waiting, pondering, gentle blowing to set the ember ablaze. Pen in hand, fingers to the keys, I fan the fire one word at a time. The words pop and crack setting fire to the page. A story unfolds. The words become a thought, becoming a character, an image, a feeling, and you are mesmerized. Watching the story, the words take shape, the framework appears and suddenly you are there, on the page.
Furiously the pen moves from line to line, capturing the thoughts that flow from my mind. My fingers fly across the keys like a water skimmer on a lake of glass. I look up to see the story in front of me, captured word for word on the page. The picture painted from chaos, spinning and reeling words create a time and place to escape. Words.
“There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you.”
― Beatrix Potter
I sit back in the chair admiring the stark black and white of the page. It is beautiful. I stretch, then leaning in I begin to read…
…And it feels good to be back. To share what longs to break free on the page that willingly and graciously accepts the arduous rambling of pen to paper, fingers to keys. The page is full, as is my heart, I sit, waiting for the next spark, basking in the warmth of each word, waiting.