The door opens and the thoughts come flooding in quicker than I can gather buckets to contain them.
My mind tries to organize them as they hit my train of thought but it is overwhelming.
The memories of last night and the schedule for today are acting like bookends to the trail of ideas that are skipping through my brain.
I can’t possibly capture all of these and commit them to the page and I fear I won’t be able to remember them all for those moments when the well runs dry and writer’s block hits center stage.
I’m literally writing as fast as I can because this phenomenon is rare in a writer’s repertoire of inspiration and I’ve never quite figured out how to recreate this state.
Could it be the vodka bathed in olive brine I consumed last night as we celebrated Yvonne’s cousin’s fiftieth birthday that has led to this induced labor of ideas?
Could it be the picture that my writer’s group sent to me this morning to provide a spark in my creative juices?
Or, is this simply a good writing day where I’ve chosen to give the muse itself the microphone, rather than producing a tangible piece that exorcises some of the lightning speed thoughts that are raising their hand in my mind’s crowd to speak their truth?
I don’t know, but I’m more than halfway through the page and I’ve written about writing and in the process I’ve also written…nothing.
This nothing is what I aim to deliver everyday and amid the tornado of ideas that has propelled me today, my mind is adding this thought to the variety of ideas growing in the turbulence – I long for the day when the flood brings that something that will rise from the nothing to become that…