Thoughts on Writing, Forming Bonds, & the Apocalypse

Today at work, I had this unnatural urge to just put pen to paper and write.  It was the perfect setting - a chilly pool deck, empty save for one woman reading what I think was The Help, and me, with my writing tablet and my favorite pen from the high school newspaper awards last year.  I had some characters in my head, a few ideas, some plots.  The problem was, most of them are for larger projects I either have work done on or I have yet to begin, and none of them were going to become short stories I could knock out in the four hours I had left in my shift.  Nothing seemed right.

I hate that.  I love that drive to write, but I hate how it never seems to match up with the right ideas, the right words, the right remembering.  I would have continued a story I've already started, if I could remember specific details and where I'd left off.  But I had nothing - just myself, a pen and paper, and creativity taking me nowhere.

Of course, with one hour left in my shift at the pool, I remembered a brilliant idea I'd had and meant to work on, but I was already invested in my book and I was hoping to leave a little early since no one was swimming, and it didn't seem worth it.

That's what nighttime is for though, right?

--------------