The hunger is there to write, but the words some how become lost. The desire to write Tess and Sam’s stories is there but I can not seem to focus on the process.
It is a tale floating in my mind just out of reach. I can taste and smell the images, hear the sounds, but I can’t seem to lock them down into words. Like a memory obscured by the fog of time or song stuck in your head whose lyrics you can’t remember.
What do you do when you have the desire to write but have lost your focus?
What do you do when you can’t find your voice?
I read those who inspired me in the first place.
I pick up Rudyard Kipling’s “The second jungle book“. I read and re-read his paragraphs. I am amazed by the action and description packed into each paragraph. I am drawn into another world, where smells, sights and sounds almost seem real.
I read through the Oxford Book of English Prose. The language of days gone past, the lives people lived. It is a wonderful collection of stories by some of the written words greatest Masters.
I read Agatha Christie and relive Ms. Marple and M. Hercule. She was my very first mystery author. Rereading her books is like visiting an old friend. The twists and turns and the unexpected endings delight me.
I enjoy The Secret Garden and other childhood favorites. It feels like I am visiting a childhood home. To walk through the tales I loved as a child brings back that feeling of naivety and innocence.
I read Janet Evonovich and Tom Schreck. The mysteries and twists resonant with me and I laugh out loud. The witty repartee and banter is like a group of buddies at a tailgate party. Comfortable and real, you can relax and be yourself with them.
I read and enjoy the stories of others until I am inspired to paint my own again.
By following in the footsteps of those who have gone before me, I make my way through the fog.