I'm in that happy place, where my new story is following me into the shower, nudging me awake, and the characters are driving to the post office with me. I've done some pre-writing, deciding important things like what the hero desires, what her great need really is, and what moral failing may undo her world.
And now...scenes are flying at me. I'm opening doors in a labyrinth of my mind's making and discovering new worlds.
I'm grabbing pen and paper to, hopefully, capture an idea before it's lost forever.
I'm not a literary giant by the world's standards, and sometimes the pressure to produce and succeed gets to me. That's where I was the other day, asking whether or not writing was the best way for me to invest my life. Surely, there are more noble pursuits. Aren't there?
And then the story starting snowballing on me. I tingled a bit. Hours of time flew by as if I'd been sedated into a beautiful dream. Oh, I thought, this is why I write.
Writing is mystical, make no mistake. We step into a deeply spiritual, satisfying place when we create, even when the creating is hard, and it does get hard. I feel God's good pleasure when I write and create. (Cue the Chariots of Fire music.) That will be reason enough to push through this story.
I better make a note of that.
So where is your happy place? How do you get there? If you find yourself in a dark corner, is it possible to release yourself? How do you hold onto the ideas that fly at you at inopportune times? High five?
