When I write, ideas come and go faster than Shanghai Maglev. I try to capture them with my dream-catcher and harness them like powerful racehorses.
Every time I write it’s a different experience. Sometimes I can see the story from beginning to end with no hassles and I just sit down and type. Other times the story grabs a hold of me; I fight, argue, beg for the reigns to make the story once again my own; but romance turns to terrible tragedy and horror twists into sickeningly sweet, fluffy chick-flick.
I spend sleepless nights when those stories flow, words tumble from my head through my pen; page after page writes itself in messy scrawl. Then it stops as it comes and I’m left in a lonely box; my characters, plots, ideas, and settings blown away into chaos. For days I sit, hoping and wondering. My keyboard collects inches of grey dust, the ink in my pen begins to dry, and the paper I write on, ages, turning yellow and brittle. I find myself wandering to the edge of a rocky cliff, wondering if I should kill every character off in a gruesome mass murder.
Then, with stealth like a ninja, it returns as quickly as it leaves me. My fingers pound the keyboard again. The cursor hovers over a single word…
…. and then I hit, publish.