Just in case I thought the words were worth...worth reading.
No worries, I am not on empty. I am not devoid of ANY thought.
It appears that the thought of sitting here banging out words, for what?
I could write the most insightful piece of work, and then what?
So what.
My love/hate affair with words is an on going battle. It always has been.
I really think there should be a diagnosis.
I could spend days, literally days, banging this keyboard. WOnderful lines of memorable rhetoric. Characters we love to hate and those that just make one say..."What?"
Life intrudes on my ability to do what I truly want to do with my words.
Since a child, getting lost within the banter and lost within the 'scenes" that play out before me.
Tunneled. And it will not leave me be until I have an ending.
It will play over and over...one chapter, one scene, until it works itself out. Then life, the normalcy of life can then carry on.
Living, while this process seethes, becomes rote. Automatic. Within completing homework with a child, or driving, or in a meeting....
"Simon"(A character in my head) battles wars on green fields in England. Or "Evony" contemplates the philosophy of her position. And then there is Mason.
They live in your head, in your heart. And they will not go away until I give them their breath.
Giving an hour here or two there, assists with this chatter, yet can not be completed until the story is completed.
Then walking away from it is okay.
For two years they have all sat, tucked away in the crevices, hiding out. Waiting for me, to give them a voice.
For two years I have missed that ability to spin their lives.
Yet I can not give them an hour or two. Its an all or nothing feat. Once again, Life intrudes.
Ah well...
This has only been an exercise in words. Pissy words, yet still done.
Not like anyone comes this way much. And maybe that is what I need, just a space to place them. The words, the characters, the exercise.
I keep promising that I will. Question is when.
Just in case I feel like it.
