The Fortunate Few

Are you among the fortunate few: the ones able to wile away the hours writing to your hearts content and still able to eek out a living, dare I say actually make money plying your craft?

I am not. I have a day job. I spend eight hours a day Monday through Friday forcibly removed from my writing. A part of me surgically removed and left at home each day. I scratch at it’s ghost like presence.

It pains me to be at work, finding a down moment, so very few and far between mind you, when I get that great kernel idea. An idea that would, if given the right nourishment, lead to a most riveting short story.

These ideas I get from my briefly quieted mind require immediate attention in order to grow to their full and bountiful potential. Without my undivided mental attention and furiously typing fingers these ideas are fleeting at best: most die never to be expressed.

This afternoon was a prime example. It was cool and overcast. A light breeze blew and rain threatened, but the clouds remained steadfastly sealed, holding back their large drops. My mind was empty as I scanned the area and monitored the wee ones entrusted to my daily care. That’s when it happened. An idea, a fantastically perfect idea! I could see the scene playing out as if I were watching it on TV.

Nothing to write with was within reach. Even if it were, something to write on was equally absent. No matter, I’ll commit it to memory, just think about it hard enough and it will keep, then I can write it down during my next quiet moment.

Math and Social Studies, pack up and dismissal flew by and no such quiet moment came.

After school meetings, setting up for classes the next day then led to rushing off to that mandated once a week course. Still no quiet moment.

Not to worry, I thought hard about my brilliant idea and it will keep in the recesses of my mind until I get home.

Now I am home. There are no work demands on my time. I am free to write, free to breath and let the words flow.

Words….hmmm. Words….um. Words…

Where have they gone? They were right there! Hanging in the air in front of eyes just this afternoon. I could reach out and touch them. The words danced so beautifully among my synapses earlier, but now the cotillion has ended and the graceful phrases all have gone home, leaving me in an empty dark room utterly alone.

I have no words to write tonight.

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