More Ideas Than Time

You know that saying, 'when it rains it pours'?  It applies to my current creative situation.  I've mentioned before that half way through writing 'Large-Hearted' came to a sudden stop.  Then, while fretting over looming writer's block, I culled a new story idea from a dream I had.  Afraid to write it out though.  It's heavy and it scares me.  The visuals are frightening.  All the more reason to commit to paper, right?  May be small potatoes to some who will read it but to me, because of the subject matter and setting, it's bone-chilling.  And THEN, while falling asleep the other night I met a NEW character who spoke up, wanting her story to be told.  I went from being barren to bonkers, zero to sixty, no time flat.  I mean yikes!  Help me, Rhonda!

Long week this week.  I had to come home today and throw on my sneakers, grab my music and go for a long sweaty walk to blow off some steam, just to be quiet, just to breathe.  It served me well.  I arrived back to my door calmer, with a bottle of wine in hand and my gratitude for the weekend fully intact.  My kitty is curled up at my feet, Gord Downie is crooning it's been a long time running from my speakers, I have a glass of wine and the window open watching the sun set behind the clouds.  I hope to write a little bit but it's weird because I keep waffling back and forth between them, writing bits and bobs on each one.  I'm certain I'll loose my marbles.  You wait and see.  I did spend some time yesterday reading essays by Ray Bradbury about the creative process.  That also doesn't help because I want everything to be written  YESTERDAY.  I swear, I need a writer's retreat.  A month in a small cottage with a computer, a cellar full of wine, cupboard full of tea and a bowl full of fresh fruit.  Add a deep bathtub, a cozy bed and a necessary but modest library of books, writing essentials and music and I would write you the world.  My dreams are lofty but isn't that what dreams are supposed to be?  I think so.

Happy weekend!  Be happy.  Be good.  To yourself.  To others.

In propinquity,

Nic