, , , ,

I have to write a short story.

This should thrill me! I love this! Except the deadline is close.

Cue panic.

Cue trying to force the story into being.

Cue failure.

Cue me beating myself over the head because I’m doing this wrong.

I have images in my head. However, the pictures aren’t coming together to form something solid. I scribble everything I know… I write down whatever comes into my head… I cram all the pieces together and cry when it doesn’t work.


It’s not working. I’m missing something. A thought. An idea. An image. A spark. I’m missing the one thing that will drive this tale. I’ll find it. I will. Maybe all it needs is for me to start writing. Maybe all it needs is for me to take a nap.


There are stories that write themselves. There are stories we have to dig out of our minds with a shovel and pickaxe.  Ow.