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I’m Trying to Capture a Moment in the Fleeting Flow of Time
Is it working?
In the sphere of creative minds, I know the question gets thrown around plenty: why do you feel this drive to create something?
Words — and the stories made up from them like a child’s toy box full of Legos — are my craft of choice. I’ve tried to answer why writing is a necessity for me. The truth is that it often feels like a pull I cannot control no matter how hard I may try.
But more and more I feel this sense of helplessness too — at least from the perspective that I’m pulling these threads from my mind and they often feel like a tangle I can’t hope to unknot. I’ve collected my ideas in notebook after notebook. Sometimes I worry they’ll just be bundled up and thrown away — or, somehow even worse, burned — with nothing salvaged from their pages.
I know I’m just trying to stop the inevitable while also accomplishing the impossible. Who cares if I wrote that one story in the exact span of five-hundred words? Or who cares that I followed one character in dozens of stories that…
