It was late and I had been tossing around in bed fighting for sleep for almost an hour when the idea hit. It was a simple short story idea, but I liked it and grasped onto it with both hands. I felt myself working through every detail and contour of it, knowing exactly how the one real character would act, what he would do, how it would end. I was enthralled, and amazingly hopeful – I haven’t finished a short story in over a year. “I’ll write it all tomorrow,” I promised myself as I finally found sleep.
That was over a week ago. I still haven’t written a single word for that story. Sure, I’m still kicking it around – I’ve even written an outline for it, something I have never done before – but I just can’t bring myself to start. I’m scared for this story, for the character – I fear that it might all end up in the graveyard of ideas. It is already slowly passing into the area where productivity dies.
Sure, I have some legitimate reasons why this story hasn’t been started yet: I helped a friend move, I’m working on this blog, I was busy stressing trying to figure out my nine-month travel plans for when I head to Turkey in less than a month. Still, I’m sure I could find a way to at least start a story; maybe not. I am not entirely sure what the purpose of this post is.
At the very least, maybe I can hope it will galvanize me to at least start. A start is better than nothing. With a start, even if the story is never completed, I have something to eventually go back to. Who knows, if I actually write and finish this story, my creativity might just receive the resuscitation necessary to pull a Frankenstein in that graveyard of ideas. Already I have some ghosts of idea past starting to flit through my mind.
Guess it’s about time to address them, huh?