I Think it’s a Compulsion

I’m sitting here trying to take a break from working on my novel, my baby, my everything-I’ve-ever-wanted-and-dreamed-of-doing project.  I’ve got so much in my head trying to work it’s way out through my fingers and onto the screen.  I don’t know why it’s suddenly come to be.  Everything seems to just suddenly be flowing out of me, and then, just as suddenly, it stops, works itself around in my mind like snow whirling inside of a decoration, and then starts again.  Maybe all of this time I’ve been dreaming and hoping and not doing anything has merely been the calm before the storm.

I don’t know, and I’m not going to fret about it.  No sense worrying about why, suddenly, the urge to write has taken me, overshadowing almost everything else.  I’m not going to look this gift horse in the mouth, it may get frisky and bite.

But it does make me wish I had some sort of defined writing process, some steps I could follow that I knew worked for me other than pounding away upon the keyboard, reading a bit of what I’ve written, and pounding away some more.

This isn’t some story I’ve just thought of on a whim.  It’s something that’s been with me for nearly a decade, cemented into my brain for three, and finally making it’s way out.

Maybe that’s what I need, though, the practice of getting it all out so as to be able to define a process for myself.  Find what works and run with it.

I’ve tried outlining and am always over taken by the need to write, the need to just get the story down, and somewhere along the way I kick myself for not following through with the outline, or making notes, or whatever else it was I was trying to do in order to define my process.

And now I’m sidetracking myself into a completely different post entirely.  Which is exactly why I wish I had a process, an outline, a flowchart to follow.  Something.  Anything! I begin to write and the writing takes over.  Whether that’s good or not, I’m not certain.  I just know what happens.

Eventually I get to a fork in the story and don’t know which way to take it.  Should I go left or right?  Maybe I should come up with a third option?  Instead of following the road, get out of the car and simply hike through the woods?

I never know, and that’s where I stop, no longer allowing myself to use the drug that is my writing to continue on.  So I’m writing this in the hopes that I will, this one time, at least, continue on and finish my story that I’ve wanted to write and has been pushing me to be written.

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