September 4th, 2011, 9:25 p.m.
Watching the light fade from the sky, the color of a light bruise deepening into indigo ink, with head in hands as I try to think of writing. Writing fiction. Having another one of those days where feel the weight of a story in my head but lacking ability to get it onto the page. Haven't written much fiction lately, but the need is strong. Problem? I can't figure out what that story is supposed to be. It's like having ghosts in the head, whispering in a quiet conversation from across the room, I strain to hear what they are telling me...but it never comes clear.
Crow mind before the shards of the mirror. I don't know which broken piece to grab first.
The story is the thing. It could be fiction, it could be non-fiction, as long as it is true. So I need to find that truth that caresses my ear, holds my heart, so that I may give it a voice. At the pub that is my brain, the characters are bellying up to the bar.
My pen hovers over the page. I'm struggling to buy them all a pint.
13 September 2011
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Love this, sir, absolutely LOVE this. And feel the pain. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going belly up to the bar with your characters...
ReplyDeleteI'm thinking that what you write may depend upon what you are pouring at the pub. Scotch will take you one way, tequila the exact opposite, an ale might leave the story all bloated, while the same effect will go entirely unnoticed with bubbly. Decide what you are pouring and I suspect the story will develop. Just do me a favor, hide the wine coolers. I don't want to read that story. :)
ReplyDeleteAh, I'm with you on this one. I'm trying to push myself back into writing more and that blank page keeps staring back at me accusingly while the distracting web browser waves at me for attention...
ReplyDeleteTruth always needs a voice, just as it needs a listening ear and a loving heart.
ReplyDeleteYou'll pick the right ones, Gumbo. I know you will.
(lifts head) I hear ya.
ReplyDeletebrother, I hear ya.