Thoughts come to me.
They pop into my head throughout the day. Sometimes I look off into space and think about how I could write it.
Like clay, I work and re-work the sentences, phrases and words in my head. I stretch them and add substance and prose and take away the bits that don't fit.
Often, I'm not in a place where I can do anything to record these thoughts. At a playgroup with Sam. Playing with him, or riding in the car with him.
I start to feel excited, and I can't wait for that time after Sam goes to bed when I can sit down with the laptop and just WRITE. I feel so full of ideas and the promise of these amazing posts fuels me.
But the day goes on. And on.
I get tired. I start to get irritable. Sam is climbing on me again, and all I want is some space of my own.
By the time he's in bed, I sit down at the computer.
And stare at a blank screen.
And wish that I could remember every single brilliant thought, every drop of passion, every tear in my eye and sigh in my lungs.
And for another night, it just escapes me.
