Putting the vast array of wonderful ideas flowing around my head should be simple. Riding down the road, my mind spirals into a million tales that grow and take on a new life that I know others need to hear, even if they themselves do not yet know it. Getting to my destination I grab a pen and the closest thing to write on and I frantically scribble notes, words, ideas, and key phrases to keep those stories alive. Once back home I stare at the crumpled list of literary genius and the floodgates fling wide open. More plots and twists spring to mind and I furiously commit the imaginings to reality upon paper.
The jumble of letters arrange words that I piece together and weave into a story that is groundbreaking! A pure work of excellence! I rush to my work area and fling open the computer as the story takes a life of its own in my head.
The award winning tale that I knew every detail of 2 minutes prior now lies tucked away in a corner of my head. The story is laughing at me. It pokes fun at my hubris. It heckles me, teasing that I thought I was in control.
The author’s stage fright. A literary fear of commitment is how I see it. When the story is merely buzzing around my head it is simple to see every angle. I know the quirks of the protagonist and the fatal flaw of the villain. I know that Susan refuses to go swimming because of the birthmark shaped like Italy on her left thigh. I know that Lucas the Fierce only travels the realms in a vain attempt to find forgiveness from the parents he slew in a drunken rage.
Yet when the time comes to ask the story to move into the real world with me, I freeze. Now others can view my thoughts and ideas. That viewership includes praise and rejection, followed by the dreaded insults. The occasional question of if I ever stocked shelves in a grocery store at night, and if so I should go back to doing that, always ground the previous regard I held myself in. Am I actually conceited enough to think that others would tolerate my tales?
Such is the struggle that usually ends here. Writing to an audience of none. Even if not a person ever reads this, it helps the words of the story I want to spin flow ever easier. Thanks for not listening. Back to my doomed affair with words.