Writing…a Short Writing……..
Written, irnoically enough, while supposedly studying in the library. I was taking a break…of course…
Writing can’t be forced. No amount of sitting before a blank page or blinking cursor will make the words come in the order of intent. Even if you have ten thousand images screaming for release, no man or woman can push them onto the page before they are ready. And that is the annoying, terrible, cruel thing of writing. Sometimes the best ideas must simply sit and ripen; all the while the writer’s fingers are itching to write something, ANYTHING of value.
Writing is a terrible and fickle master, as anyone can tell you. The days when life is crowding too full and you wonder if you even have room left to breath, those are the days when the call reaches its crescendo, demanding your immediate attention. Or on those nights when you have just neared sleep after a far too taxing day, like a clanging symbol writing roars and chases sleep away. Of course, when the hours are just ticking slowly past, dragging a long line of wasted moments in the sand of time, fingers can pause for hours over the keys, waiting. There is inspiration in the world, but nothing that will coalesce into something worthwhile. You can write, of course. Anyone can put words to paper. But, in the end, it won’t speak to you the way it should. It won’t remember you who formed it or speak to others concerning your hopes, dreams, goals. It will be one more piece of nothing.
Critique appreciated. As always.
❤
The Bet You Would Not Take 