Getting back to writing feels, strangely enough, more like starting from scratch. Wondering where story ideas came from, how I can harness one and craft it into something more.
I remember how it used to be. Everything was an idea, every person, every object, every overheard snippet of conversation. I would think about them all, rolling them around in my head until they were as smooth as marbles. Most got lost in the nooks and crannies of everyday life; only the strongest survived. Those, I would craft into stories.
Or at least try to.
I remember writer’s block during my second semester creative writing workshop, how I was certain that block meant failure. I remember starting a story and pounding out three pages effortlessly as the night sky began to lighten. I went to bed excited to work on it again, despite the limited hours of sleep and demands of a full course load in college and a full time job. In the morning, I couldn’t turn my computer on. My story start was gone.
I’ve tried countless times to recreate those pages. That story has stuck with me through the years. Eight years is a long time for a wisp of an idea to stay with you. Imagine my surprise when, writing on my too-short lunch break yesterday, I found the story I was starting would weave perfectly into that piece I lost so many years ago.
And that’s how it comes full circle.
Basically, I missed the creativity that seemed to help me breathe all those years ago. I’m tired of being bogged down by everyday life, never having a chance to explore my imagination.
So here I am.