2004172
Saturday November 17th 2012, 3:18 amStaring, blinking, staring some more. Blankly my eyes canvass across brightness in front of me. Nothing is there. Or is it? Its certainly there, it must be, just not here. Obliviousness, but then I catch that my gaze has drifted downward to the little plastic push tabs in front of me. Objects scattered, disarray around, as my hands just sit there unmoving, except for the occasional involuntary twitch of slightly curled fingers awaiting orders from my mind to engage. But to engage what? There is nothing here. Bumps in my thoughts, hiccups of connections. I look up again into whiteness, it’s fraught with unspoken peril. It taunts, it haunts. Then almost subliminally something occurs, sparks of phrases trickle into life slowly ebbing from the darkness that is the tube-link to the more colorfully profound Ideaspace. The download sputters into motion slowly, tweaks and flickers, specs of information floating along unevenly. But within a few moments the rhythms of creation smooth out, the flow equalizing into consistency. And I find myself typing sporadically, almost spontaneously, voraciously. This what its like for me every time I start the very beginning of a first draft script.
Writing Fits
November 16th 2012
No Comments so far
Leave a comment
Leave a Comment
** Required but not displayed