Sometimes the urge to write hits at the most inconvenient times. Anywhere from in the shower, making dinner to at my desk at work. I do my best to jot down notes, things I want to write about, ideas.. yet a large amount of time, when I finally sit down to write it’s gone. That urge to drag the pen across the paper, that tingling in the back of my head and my fingertips. Writing isn’t quite as easy as it used to be when I was younger.
I remember sitting overnight in small diners, with awful, watered down coffee, just writing my mind back to sanity. Life was (is still) tough for me in my teens and early twenties, and writing is how I had coped. I have so many journals, some with dirt on them, others covered in coffee stains.. all of which I’m saving for who knows what reason. My question is, where did all of those words go? Do I really need to drag myself to a diner to write at some ungodly early hour in the morning? Why don’t the words flow as easily as before?
I guess that want to write, that feeling, comes around when it feels like it. I just have to wait until the timing is right, and hopefully the words will just pour out again one day.