Just when I was about to sell out—by posting an irrelevant top-five list involving canine apparel—I visited one of my favorite blog sites. The author of www.writersdigest.com/writerslife provided the inspiration necessary to trudge beyond my recent ambivalence. Thanks Kevin. Apparently I’m not the only one frustrated with getting words to paper.
Is it possible, this early in the year, to run out of ideas, motivation, and time? The billowing recycle-bin on my desktop displays my answer. Thoughts beyond a sentence or two quickly dissolve. I can’t blame it on writer’s block because characters are rampant and naked and running amuck within the confines of my imagination. The problem is isolating a single scheme for further study. Once I get a hold of the buggers, my concentration wanes.
Let us utilize the freeway to better understand this torture. First, we will establish some parameters. Personal safety is assured. Traffic is moving (I’m a big city girl). And it is daylight—no rain. Liken, for a minute, ideas to autos. If you observe the speeding sea of cars as a whole, collecting specific information beyond color and make will be difficult. Focusing your attention on one car, however, may afford a few extra details—like number of occupants and the license plate number.
You can’t write an engaging story knowing—only—that someone drove a Ford. But watching that Ford drive down the highway as far as you can see will solve more questions. The criminal sped away in a blue Ford Escort—license RMT118. But then what? So what the Ford is blue. What did the person do to gain crook status anyway? Who cares? This, my friends, explains the death of innumerable, partially written pieces.
By the way . . . the little brown Yugo we’ve been riding in, the one I plucked from the expressway, has now vanished. Sorry. I followed it as long as I could. But a juicy red Ferrari has caught my eye.