Writing

You sit down, a thousand words in your head, a hundred thoughts waiting to be brought to life.

But each word on the screen exists separate, distinct, from the other. Everything you type is disjointed, and there are so many other things, so many other, better ways to focus your time. You can have a relationship, you can have a job, you can eat. You could sleep.

But you come back, because the thoughts are still there. The words are still fighting to be told, and you type, your fingers hitting the delete key over and over. It’s not right. It’s not what is inside you.

Your attention leaves, but what’s inside you won’t let go, it starts burning a hole somewhere, in your brain, in the back or front of your head, it doesn’t matter. The more tired you are, the more you know you won’t sleep, you will never sleep, until it’s out.

You start to type again, and this time, you are driven by some level of desperation – at some point, you will need to rest, you will pay the price tomorrow if you don’t. And again tomorrow after that, and after that.

No. Line in the sand, here we go. Garbage or not, The Idea or not, it’s getting churned out.

So much later than it should be now. You’re tired, but now the thoughts are there are on the surface, now the words are matching the thoughts. You haven’t hit the delete key in five, no, fifteen, fifty minutes.

It’s not thoughts that you are putting down, it’s emotion, it’s not thoughts, it’s ideas! New ones, whole ones, emotions and ideas and thoughts and words that never existed inside of you before, never existed outside of you before, but now they do. Quicker and quicker, like water finally breaking through, like a gathering stream and now…

It’s a rush. All you want to do, all you can do, is feel a fierce sort of joy at how easy it is to take what burns inside of you and burn it into language.

Okay, yep, really late now. Like, super duper late, and people will make commentary tomorrow and you’ll read what you wrote and the euphoria will be gone and it’s pretty much going to suck.

But.

Some of it won’t. Some of it will be pure and perfect as silver glinting inside granite, and you’re going to come back to it.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *