Last night at about midnight, I had my homework done and I was done watching TV for the night, so I was getting ready for bed. I turned on “Cool Kids” by Echosmith to have something to listen to. All of a sudden, I found myself on the edge of a major character/plot development breakthrough. But the scene wouldn’t play out in my head. I grabbed my notebook. Still, nothing came.
This is particularly frustrating if you’re like me, whose imagination works in fits and spurts, because if you have a really random yet good idea, you might not be able to hold onto it for long. It’s also frustrating because while this is the farthest I’ve ever gotten with a story – 20 pages, give or take – I want to be done. I wish I could get all my ideas down at once and then go back to my word document and flush them out. But no, that would be too easy. Sometimes, when I look at my favorite authors, I chastise myself, thinking that I could be done with my own book by now and wishing I could just sit down and write. And that hurts.
I need to make more time for it somehow. I have ideas, and they’re good ones. I just need to get them down before I lose them completely and I’m writing the same book 50 years later.