Since my earliest memories, I have wanted to be a writer. The pursuit of that dream has had its fits and stumbles. I have abandoned the dream at certain junctures in my life. But now that I write almost every day, it is becoming a joy, a passion, a release.
But there are frustrations.
I find one of the most frustrating parts about writing is, when you have a moment of brilliance, a concept for that fifteen hundred word short story you were looking for. But, at the moment of conception, you are in no position to write it down. I try to rehash it in my mind, repeatedly, in an attempt to lock it in my memory.
Then it’s gone.
You try to recall it later, but there isn’t even a twinkle of inspiration.
Almost as frustrating, is when you do jot down notes that you hope capture a thought or an idea, only to go back later, and not be able to connect the note to the full realm of the idea that so readily filled your imagination that day.
Sadness.