When Inspiration Hits

The few ideas that were popping up here or there turned into a flood that spread to about 10 pages in my new journal. I don't know how it happened. I wasn't even planning to write.

I walked in my room and sat at my desk. In the back of my brain, I knew that I should really try to get some work done because I am behind this week, but of course I was procrastinating. I just came home from work, I didn't want to work more.

I looked over and saw my journal lying on my desk. I remembered a few quotes that I wanted to jot down so I unwound the string that tied the leather binding closed and opened to a blank page. I needed a pen and grabbed my fountain pen.

The pen wrote smoother on the parchment paper that the journal is made of. This is how those geniuses used to write back in the day. The same geniuses that inspire me to write everyday. I guess it was the mixture of a new writing surface and the fact that I just didn't think when I started writing.

I wrote the two quotes and flipped to a new page. I had written down a few character portraits, some quotes and figured that I might as well get some ideas for settings. Looking out side I saw the maple tree in my front yard, which is starting to grow some buds.

I started just writing about the tree and the next thing I knew my hand was flying across the page, quickly scribbling. I wasn't thinking just writing. Nothing is specific, just a cohesion of ideas. The description of the tree, then the bench beneath it, the stark contrast to the house, then suddenly a woman standing there and on and on.

As it continued, it clicked what the story was going to be. The story was unrolling before me faster than I could grasp it but then I realized I didn't want to take a hold of it fully. I wasn't going to get specifics down, specific descriptions, or specific looks.I just wanted to get my initial thoughts down and I even switched point of view, from third to first, but i didn't go back to edit or correct, I just kept writing. Not thinking.

About 20 minutes later, I had completed about 10 pages of what is to be the first chapter. The first wave of the flood had begun to ebb and I put my pen down, a little tired but strangely rejuvenated.The last time I felt like that was back in high school when I wrote my first novella.

When the flood hit then, I was in the shower and I literally jumped out of the shower, threw some clothes on, grabbed my notebook and wrote.

I had forgotten how fun it could be just to get lost in my ideas. It was refreshing and I was satisfied. I feel the waters beginning to rise again but I refuse to do anything until the flood hits. That is when I am at my most creative.