Tuesday, May 5, 2009

On Writing

The blank page is always before me. Some mornings it's white with hope and opportunity and I rush to fill it. More often its whiteness is a reprimand, a symbol of thoughts that I don't have, ideas that never occur to me, sentences I haven't constructed. This is one such morning.

Tomorrow the sun will shine, and I will leap from bed flush with the desire to narrate. Today my main desire is to crawl back into bed with a book and spend the hours caught up in someone else's narration. Tomorrow the excitement of my own words will spill from the keyboard and emanate from the screen. Tomorrow the laundry will be done, the groceries purchased, the paperwork filed, the distractions shoved aside. Tomorrow I will command the letters of the alphabet into paragraphs, each perfectly constructed.

Writing is always for, and about, tomorrow.


beths said...

write, girl, write

tunsie said...

my friend had a creative writing class in college.he would go 4 a walk along monocacy creek in bethlehem 2 help inspire his writing.tunsie