Monday, February 16, 2009

Pen and Ink

Writing is the hardest thing in the world to do, having an idea is easy.

Millions of people have billions of ideas every day I would imagine, little fleeting tufts of dandelion notions dancing around in the sunlight of their minds. Sometimes they fry or are blown away by the winds of change never to be seen again. I think that is a most horrible thing.

I often wonder where the lost ideas go, where they end up. Since manifested ideas are so easy to behold, does it not also make sense that somewhere there lies an enchanted land of forgotten thoughts?

It must be a terribly beautiful world, with strange winged creatures soaring through a multi-colored ever-darkening sunrise. Of course, no one ever sees it because of the damned mists that forever enshroud the place and the more intensely you search for it, the easier it eludes you.

I carry thought imprisoning tools with me in a daily futile attempt to limit the number of escapees. Some are indeed too quick for me while others are so disassociated or ridiculous that they make no sense at all. Sometimes they come back, (the most intrinsically absurd aspect of all lost and forgotten thoughts) traipsing uncertainly down the street and suddenly stumbling into me like an overly drunk friend looking for just one more. Ok, just one more.

More oft than not, the ideas that do make the long perilous journey from synapse to paper usually end up trapped in a folder and stuffed away at the bottom of a lonely trunk in a dusty corner of the room. A sad fate for any emerging fancy but, oh the electric joy that repeats and resounds throughout my being when I find that magical scrap of parchment that was once a forgotten thought.

. . . wait a minute, what was I talking about?