Story of My Life

Every so often, written words float through my mind and along with those words, I see the scenes to pair with the narrative.  The narrative flows freely from my fingertips, and I also envision the characters conversing casually with intermittent bursts of laughter and I just know these characters have connections and a bond that only best friends share.

         I begin to tell myself that I must be on my way as this is the long-awaited epiphany which would define me and lead to perhaps, the greatest piece of writing.  That finally, the novel I’ve always wanted to write but did not know how to start, is here—inside my head—at the very moment when a pen, paper, computer, phone, ipad, someone nor anyone is  available to help get these words and ideas documented in any manner.  When this happens, I tell myself to remember it. Remember all of it.  And I always really and truly believe I will remember it.  Only, five minutes after telling myself to remember and I am now able to get the words written down.  The memory drawer in my invisible filing cabinet easily slides open, but nothing is there.  Absolutely nothing.  Nothing.  NOTHING.

         Before I close, I admit to myself that writers write.  It’s just what they do.