I have so many things that I love, but I cannot seem to make a story out of them. I have words that swirl about my head like a cloud, but they are miniscule droplets that refuse to come together and form rain – rain that would fill a mountain vale with a purple-grey quiet and make the summer greenery wet and feel like spring again. Like my life, with the trees that sometimes group together to suggest a forest, images gather in my mind with such realism that I believe the story to be there, somewhere; a landscape lurking behind fog, so grand that even the glimpses make you gasp in delight. I do not need an imaginary world to live in. I need a work of art, something to unveil, an expression, something that can be given away. But neither can I labor on with only the barest of purposes, hoping to gain momentum. I am an artist, not an artisan. I must reach for something beautiful, or else I will touch nothing.
And yet to wait for inspiration is to begin to die slowly.
"But words are things, and a small drop of ink / Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces / That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think." ~Lord Byron
You poor dear. You sound so very morose.
ReplyDeleteLike you need some cheering up...and some inspiration in the process! :D
However, I find myself in the veryveryvery same boat. Trying to write. Having small ideas. Not being able to get them down without freezing up. And a grander picture behind them all--but one that refuses to be cohesive and tangible. So we can just be mentally morose together. :)
I can't wait to see you next week...so sad today had to be cancelled. :(
But I shall see you next week.
And that shall remedy all. :)
And whatever you do...DON'T DIE SLOWLY! I shall throw your own words back at you: If you don't live long and prosper, I will shoot you. (Hey, at least you'd be dying quickly.)
This is starting to sound like an email, so I shall cease and desist. :)
Love you!
(Go read a bunch of fanfiction. It always helps.)
Laurie <3