Squeezing Out Words

Post date: May 22, 2017 6:6:29 PM

I often find myself sitting in front of a blank screen, staring. The cursor blinking in its vertical, accusing fashion. And I wait, knowing there's something that wants to take shape here. I just need to form it.

A potter can mold clay, a sculptor can carve wood or stone, but a writer can only crumple paper (or make airplanes {or origami [but I can't]}). So, the cursor blinks. And waits. The page speaks.

Or doesn't.

The day drifts away while I gaze into the snow. The blank wall of while. The words come when I stop caring. Stop wondering who'll read them or how they'll interpret them. I just allow myself to breath and the words flow freely like a river through a crack in a dam. Until there's none left.


Just drips from a sponge. I wring and wring, but it's gone dry.

And so, I've spent my last bit of energy. The moment passes. The story still rattles in my mind; somewhere. Running. I need to hunt it, chase it, grasp it. Control.

Skittish stories drift away unless I'm careful, stealthy. Ideas, once caught, stay. Permanent. Ready and willing to be used. Excited, yearning for more smiling faces.

But most only see the inside of my computer. Waiting. Hoping.