I opened a blank piece of paper, intending to draft my Sunday blog post, and a story I have been flirting with for the better part of 12 months nearly knocked me over with its opening scene. I watched in my head as the beginning of the story unfurled (fortunately my fingers had enough sense to type what I was seeing) and next thing I knew I had nearly seven hundred words on the page and almost no conscious memory of putting them there.
Inspiration does not strike often, but when it does it is a beautiful thing. I don’t put a lot of stock in inspiration, it is a bit like love after the age of 30; ephemeral and cloudy, and upon reflection you see the dark smudges you were blind to in the moment. Having said that, when it does hit, there is nothing wrong with giving in and letting it rule you for a little while.
So now I have my piece to come back to each night and try to build on. It is my tale to ponder when I’m on the bus, waiting at the check-out, or in a boring meeting – and it feels wonderful to have one of these again. I have been away from my stories for too long, I guess my brain just needed the break.
Might be time for a personal WriMoFoFo?