This is about right for me. Still awake in nearly the middle of the night and feeling that I need to create something before I lay my head to rest for the night. It would be possible for a normal person just to shake off the feeling of leaving something undone for the day and getting to it the next day, but that feeling doesn’t easily disappear when you’re a writer. Or, at least in my case, having the mind of a writer that desperately wants to be crafted every single time it commands.
It’s been difficult over the past few years to get a handle on the things that I want to write down. I’m not really sure from day to day on whether or not the urge will hit me at all. If and when it does hit me, I’m not even sure what it is I’m going to write about. That’s golden for a writer. Having the will to write and not having something to write about. At that point, the paper becomes a blank canvas and you can make it into anything you want without a pre-determined idea of what you want.
It downright sucks sometimes. I never know what it will take to set off my Urge to write and when it goes off, I often have to find the time to work it in. I’ve always been a procrastinator. But The Urge doesn’t understand that. It doesn’t understand sadness or bliss. It doesn’t understand sickness, it doesn’t understand tired. It is because that is what it is. The basic need to create once it knows you have the ability to give it what it wants.
For the longest of time, knew that certain types of music would set it off. Classical music would set off a wave of images in my head of places I’d never dreamed of or even thought of before I’d heard that particular song. Sometimes it’s a wonderful sensation. It can put me in a state of euphoria to know that I have this ability.
But this feeling, as much as it is, is my curse. For as much as I’ve kept and honed this craft that I have been given, there are certain traits that I must keep in order for it to stay alive. The Urge has thrived on making me remember things that I’d rather forgotten. It makes me remember people that I wish I had never met. And it makes me remember feelings, I wish I didn’t have.
As much as live in this fantasy world of mine, I wonder if it is my escape. I wonder that because my life has been the way it has been, if somehow, some way, something more powerful than me has given me an escape. It’s given me something I could turn to that I could control myself and none of my creations could feel the same emotions or deal with the same ordeals that I dealt with early in my life.
(sigh) I really don’t know anymore. All I know is at this point in my life, this is what I must be. I must be what I have the abilities to do. No matter how much I might feel that it has always somehow managed to get in the way of my life, I must own this ability that I have and hope that one day I will be able to put it to good use and that it might take care of me for the rest of my life. If not, hopefully it will do me the favor of always being there to listen when my real life must be listened to first than that of my fantasy world.
May it be the ultimate best friend.
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