Have you ever had an amazing creative surge where you have been going a million miles a minute for days and days. The words just flowed and the juices were plentiful, and then suddenly as quickly as it started, been so stuck you feel as if you just woke up one day to find youself smack in the middle of fast drying wet cement, as you sit there looking at a blank screen?
I think that my being stuck is parallel to my life as I am currently living it. I can’t seem to move my foot and get out and yet I have finally realized that I am only hurting myself by staying stuck. I was told recently that I would know when I was done. “You will only be done when you are done.” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? How do I know when I am done? For me who is all about closure, that explanation just is too abstract. I need a picture. One that has no coloring outside of the lines because lately, in my world, the colors have been outside of the lines. And you know what? It doesn’t feel good anymore.
Where I once did not want to live in a black and white world & needed shades of gray to explain away my pain. I now am beginning to crave the structure of a more controlled world. The secrets and fantasy, the thrill of the unknown, what could have been or what could possibly be are now not so exciting anymore. In fact, t
they are downright exhausting.
I don’t want the ending to be abrupt or in anger. I want it to have a sweet twist, I want it to all be okay for everybody. I want to find the words to know that I am done and my story can find it’s way to the last page in a way that will touch hearts for years to come. A book is only as good as it’s ending; as is life.