I have to write a short story.
This should thrill me! I love this! Except the deadline is close.
Cue trying to force the story into being.
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.