As of late, my jolt of writing spells have come few and fewer in between. Looking through a few unfinished works recently, I could hardly believe how much I had actually accomplished with my writing. Page after page seemed to run endlessly from one burst of life to the next. From the stream of characters, the casual nature of plots, and even finding that at some point in time I had actually been capable of expanding my vocabulary tenfold was truly incredible to see. Now with all this being said, I am in NO way playing any song to my ego. But as I did take an opportunity to look back through my writing I discovered that I had surprised myself without even knowing. The surprise wasn’t so much the WHAT I had written, it was the fact that I HAD wrote.
I had developed a schedule, a plan, a rhyme and reason for pursuing my writing passion. It’s crazy to think back now that I had been a virtual writing machine, spilling out page after page of my built up creativity, exploring my love and depth of writing, my characters, and twisting plots out of nothing. THIS is my amazing surprise from myself. Not so much the value or worth of words. It was that I had actually made time, consistently to take on writing to the extent that I have the essential elements of what would constitute a working novel. So with that realization I can’t help but feel a small seeping of pride in knowing that writing had been not just a possibility but an actual priority at times.
I can clearly remember why and how I had pushed out so much. It was an act and arrangement so simple, one that I had made part of my everyday routine in between work and family obligations. Yet somewhere down the line it has faded to black. It wasn’t so much the pre-planned or penciled in moments that had spurred my writing output, it had been simply discovering when creativity would strike. For me that clock always struck after midnight. So yes here comes the cliché’ of “burning the midnight oil” will make a guest appearance now.
I have freedom that seems to spike up during the wee hours of the night that seems to foster and ignite my creative flow. I’m taking a chance that this small act of remembrance and subsequent actions of putting pen to paper will get me back into the writing game. And as always just curious to know if there is a particular time or place that lights your writing fuse?