The flow

So I sat down to save the damsel.  The scene had been sitting in my mind for a while, refusing to budge from neuron to fingertips to keyboard.  I finally forced it out.

Of course, on initial reading, the scene will appear to be a cliche.  But I already know that is a misdirect.

All of this vague talk here about story and character for a work no one knows anything about - what is my purpose?  I don't know, perhaps this is just to remind myself that I'm still working at it.

On occasion I make the mistake of thinking about what I'll write next, should this ever become complete - and I haven't the foggiest idea.  It's foolish to think about Thursday's game when you're still playing Tuesday.  (Sports references don't suit me!  But you get the gist.)

Every time I approach the keyboard with the intention of being unique.... my brain rightfully stops me in my tracks.  It reminds me to listen to the heart, and the heart says nothing more than just "write what you have to... don't grab a motive and drag it along, let inspiration pull you."  Grand difference between the two.  Given an opportunity to work for money (a brain concern), I find myself more and more dismissive of this.  The world is replete with uninspired works.  I find myself disheartened in the idea I had to force the words out these last two days, but in saying that I did so, I really just mean that I forced the usual hindrances out of the way and let the words flow.  It may be a creek now, but if I keep out of my own way, there'll be a river once more.