Often times I have the most horrendous time writing not because I don’t want to (it’s normally when my desire to write is highest), not because I have no ideas (there are always a few in the attic), nor because I’m to busy (that rarely happens I’m rather a recluse when it comes to social situations). Most of my writing problems are simply a matter of finishing what I started. I get brilliant ideas all the time but I get bored easily (I’m bored right now and I had an entire blog post written before I started). I suppose though it isn’t boredom but things sound so much better in my head when and idea is bouncing around I come up with beautiful prose fit for a novel but somehow when it gets written it is as if a spell has been broken. The spell that makes things beautiful in my mind but when it finds its way through the maze of my mind it ends up dead. It seems to go through a long journey before ending up exhausted and pathetic on paper.
The spell I think is what makes ideas so powerful. An idea has the ability unlike anything else on earth to take control of the mind and the longer it stays the more beautiful it grows but the moment it is touch by another influence it loses its ability to fly. Rather like a butterfly in flight that are the most beautiful creature but if their wings are touched they lose their ability to fly.
I suppose I have rambled enough and I am sleepy now tomorrow I may post at least a half way coherent list of new years resolution (of which there are many.
The Woods Between the Worlds 