I started my writing journey to release the characters who were chattering in my head. Adventures hovered and flitted through my mind as numerous as fireflies on a summer’s night. But I shared Tony’s concern. Would there come a point where I ran short of ideas? Where would I find inspiration? How could I continue my quest if my well was dry?
Despite my fear, I write daily. I pluck an individual concept from the ether, tease the thread from the massive tangle of jumbled thoughts, and I describe what I see. Some develop like a single seed of a dandelion, so delicate, I must act quickly to capture them before they float away on the slightest breeze. Some tales are yarns created from nubby hand-spun wool. They produce interesting textures and present unexpected issues that demand creative solutions. They grow, creating a warm, comfortable blanket.
Writing is like cutting the head off…
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