Write, that’s that what every writer should do they say; but what about the days when the words hideaway in crevices and gaps you cannot get to? Little feral creatures burying themselves in dark recesses, refusing to enter the bright, shiny light of the blank page.
What can be done to tempt these wisps out? What incentives entices their first tentative steps from their burrows so they can be plucked and placed in order to create magic, margin to margin?
As a writer am I a tamer of such beings? The word whisperer making them dance across the page, generating visions of adventure, death, and love? Is there a school that teaches you how to do this or is it a case of looking within the soul?
Am I a writer? That I will never know, but I will keep watch for those feral creatures and try to teach them to dance for my joy.
Leamington Spa, Midlands, UK