My thoughts seem to echo in my head today as though there is a deep chasm, a canyon inside my head. I need to find a way to take 1000 words and put them together into patterns and phrasing that forms sentances and paragraphs that would make sense. 1000 random words lost in the canyon of my mind to start yet another part of the story I am discovering in my novel. 1000 random words that when put together share yet another portion of the lives in this world.

I find it interesting that I can stare at blank screen of white and slowly my fingers tap on keys and letters appear forming words that form sentances that form paragraphs that translate into a story of some sort. Even more interesting is how there are times when the typing just happens and I could nto tell you what fingers went where, what keys were pressed, what words were formed until I stare at the screen and actual read the results.

Writing is an interesting progression from point to point b to point c. But the progression is not just what the reader finds in the words, but what you found as the story flowed through your fingers and onto the page. You learn about the characters, you learn about the world, you learn about yourself and those around you. Even in fiction you can see parts of your life currents on the page.

Sometimes the writing for me comes best when I lay in bed. I lay there and the warm water underneath of me fits around my body. There are other times where I need to sit and look into the trees behind my house. The creek rushes to wherever it goes and my thoughts follow it and pour onto the page. On occasion I have realized what to write and where to go while being involved in the hustle and bustle of shopping. When I’m out I’m always staring at the people around me and imaging what their lives are. Where they have come from and where they are going. Why they are looking at that item and what they might look at next.

So today I decided to try to write. But nothing seemed to fill my brain. No words flowed from my fingers. No movement has happened and my novel is frozen, a snapshot in time. I wonder if these characters realize they are frozen. Can they not speak to me when they are frozen as if in blocks of ice?

For now I am going to put the computer away. I am going to go pull some more weeds, try to do more of my yardwork and see if my fingers will know where to go on keys tonight after knowing where to go in the dirt outside my front window. Will navigating the dark earth there help them navigate the keyboard for the story in here?