Pages Before Me


Pages before me. Each one filled with lines that swirl and connect into words that flow from my mind, never ending, wanting to be heard. Obstacles show themselves, keeping the words from telling their tale, damning them to be forgotten, driven back into the mist from which they slithered. How do I clear the debris that threatens to clog creativity to only a trickle? Concentration flits between subject to subject, never holding onto one long enough to bring a thought to fruition. A-B-C, 1-2-3, yes-no-maybe, to do or not to do. Forcing only causes water to slip though my fingers, while allowing to wander leaves fly away in the wind. Words flow through a mind filled with clutter, no end in sight, no savior on white horse on the horizon awaits, lost and alone, the battle drags on into the night.

Distractions and Writing

When I was in junior high and that fateful paragraph was written on the board of my Homeroom class, my love of writing began. Saved my ass a few times, too. You see, I was too busy writing, so the projects I was suppose to be doing sort of got…lost. (Actually they just didn’t get done so I made a deal with my teacher and turned in my latest chapter instead.) I remember even having time to write when I worked at the front desk of the local pool. As I sit here, some years later, I still have that passion to write but for some reason I cannot stay focused. Some could blame it on old age or the fact that real life is a lot more complicated and filled than it was in my school years. And when I got married and had kids all that free time went by the wayside because…well…babies are a bit time consuming.

But I digress. Back to the distractions. Even when I started writing again when the kids went to school I was still able to focus. Yes I had television, books, housework, the flower gardens, the family when they were home, yet I still was able to focus. Now I could be all alone and I can’t get down on paper what it is I want to tell. The difference? Internet, for one. The internet and the social media that has all these distracting evil addictive games. Games where you move objects to make three or more of a kind and they disappear. Games where you grow crops and sell them, pop bubbles, hit the spin button and see what prize you will win at the end. I have managed to cull some of those games and I never put money into those games for more ‘lives’. I have five then five it will be. I do my best to ignore them. Play those five lives then close it down. Music helps to focus me, as always. But unless I go somewhere where I don’t have internet access, or inspiration hits so hard I can no longer ignore it, I have a hard time staying focused.

Another is me, myself and I. The book I am writing now was written a long time ago, in those school day. Since then I have rewritten it a few times, each time the journey a little different than the last. This time around I finally realized what it was missing. Why it never felt right. So I started again, trying to keep to the original storyline as best as I could. Unfortunately, I am to the point that the story has changed and grown so much that a lot of what was written before will not work, yet I still try to keep as much of it as I can. And that trips me up, puts that writer’s wall firmly into place, not allowing the scenes in my head pass through my fingers and onto the paper until I get out of my way and just write.

So on that note, I’m going to plug into my music and try to ignore the call of the games, forget what I have written down in previous rewrites and try to finish the book I am currently working on. Not as in done ready to publish, but done as in this part of the story is finish and I can now begin the many edits. Oh, and find a title. Little like trying to find the perfect purse. I mission doomed before it’s started. You girls know what I am talking about! 😉

Have a great weekend. 🙂




Written together into thought,

spoken into air,

whether softly so only those closest can hear,

or loudly so the heavens themselves can hear.

They are the window into our hearts,

our souls,

showing how much we love

or how much we hurt.

Hear my words,

let them in,

weaving their own meaning

into your life.

For what meaning they have for me

may not be the same for you,

and that is all right.


~ © 2014 Heidi Barnes