I don’t worry too much, as I’ve done it all before. The story will soon leave rubber. Yet so many ideas churn in my mind, I don’t know what to write. My muddled thoughts confuse and distract me. It’s a familiar feeling. It makes me crazy.
I love it.
No. As one of my favorite old Irish sayings goes, “Seeking one thing often finds another.” Research inspires. I doubt I'll ever write about dendrochronological data or the River Lagan’s Water Monster. These interesting tidbits might clog the fuel line, but they swirl with the fairy wind and the leg irons found beneath old forts. Fine, but how do I sort all these tidbits for better fuel combustion?
I procrastinate by insisting I must finish other writing projects. Between loads of laundry, grocery runs, and social visits, I wonder if I should escape to a writing retreat. I launch a new cooking blog and begin reading L.A. Meyer's wonderfully addictive Bloody Jack books. Creating a new Windows Media playlist inspires me. I zoom in the left lane for a bit, then stop to clean bird droppings from the windshield. I manage to write the first chapter.
The pit crew is ready. Soon, the story will rip down the track like a well-tuned sports racer. I might be driving the vehicle, but I will have no power to stop it.
I can’t wait.