[brain]storm

Windy today with a slight chance of rain.  I hear the whisper of possibility between each damp gust colliding with leaves and earth.  In silence, in between, is where the story builds.  I see it from the corner of my eye, hear it on a level that defies sound.  It’s coming.  Be patient.  

Of course, writing is work.  Habit.  It takes sixty days to build one.  Or is that how long it takes to break?  Either way, if the goal is to be prolific, the mind must be disciplined.  Sit.  Stay Still.  Open the door inside you.  Write.Write.Write.

Sometimes, however, I disagree with myself.  Today is a worthy example.  Today, writing feels like letting go.  Relinquishing control.  Throwing away the leash/harness/reigns of some wild, ugly, magnificent beast and letting instinct (for that is what it is) pave the way to prose.  Today, the powerlessness of putting all trust in the muse is frightening.

The silence is too loud.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s