to be a writer

It’s been some time. No. It’s been time. Period. I haven’t really sat before my screen, keys tippy-tapping, mind unhinged, words sinuous and unstoppable from the lengths of my fingers. It is not a lack of want, of desire, of ideas, of scenes passing through my head as if in a movie. It's more of a paralyzing feeling…where will this go? Where does this have the potential to go?

This nagging nuisance seems to lie in the sheer fact that I have too many thoughts, too many ideas pulsing through my mind. I try to grab at one, start writing, and before I know my struggling musician-heroine in the streets of Barcelona has turned into a happy-go-lucky starving hobo on the streets of Morocco who meets a snake charmer that will change her life, turned into…well, none of that is actually true, but you can see where I’m going with this. The point is my ideas run wild. I need to find a way to tame the ideas in me, to direct them for the long haul, to make them more than just short stories; because, to be a writer…that is what is coursing through my veins.