The Writing Jar

There's a very delicate balance to when I can actually write.

Most days when I write, I'm picturing the scene in my head like some choose your own adventure book. I see my characters like I'm watching a movie, and then I come up with different choices that they could make. I'm always mentally in tune with whatever the next big scene is, though, and I guide my characters to and from events. What they do or say during the events is up to them.

However, there are days when I'm possessed. My fingers fly faster and more continuously than they do on any other normal "work day". Most days, the noises coming from my office just sound like nervous, apprehensive pencil taps. Tap, tap, tap. Then long bits of silence. Then maybe a little bit more tap, tap, tap. But on these days of possession, it's something much different. Sometimes I catch myself closing my eyes, typing my stream of thought, my consciousness moving its way from my head, past my heart, and into my fingers.

These moments go on my list of reasons why I live. There's this connection when I am able to turn my stream of consciousness into documented works. It's hard to put it into words... what its really like.

I guess, it's like there is a jar, and it's a handcrafted, handpainted jar with a lid that lifts off with the slightest of clay "clinks". Inside is where all the forgotten and discarded imagination of my subconscious is stored.

It's my best unrefined writing. And it's good.

Problem is getting into that jar on a regular basis. It's not like I can't get the lid off, it's just that I can't find the place where the jar is stored. I've been having this experience this morning. It's kind of like a stumbling on El Dorado or the Castle in the Sky. It's there then it's gone. And no matter how I search and search for it, it only appears when I'm emotionally moved or physically drained. And people wonder why I pull so many all nighters. I do it for that single moment.