Sometimes, I'm dried up.
The words won't come, nor will ideas in any order.
The worst is when I've worked myself up to feel a bit, gotten into character, am on the verge of understanding something new . . . and then am interrupted by reality.
I can't be crying alone in the car for beloved ones on the page and on the screen when I pick my mom up from work. I can't wallow in sentiment while scrubbing a surface clean.
Wouldn't it be nice if reality never had to intrude on the preferable fiction?
Ah, yes. Reality vs. imagination?
ReplyDeleteMaybe it's better that way? I don't know.