I find motivation a funny thing. Sometimes I want to write more than anything- I feel like the words are spilling out of me, racing to see who can be the first to reach the page. Words dance through my mind, organizing themselves into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement, finding the balance between clarity and poetry. They're acrobatic, and do the work for me.
Sometimes I don't even have the phrasing yet, just wonderful ideas that I verbalize to anyone whose ear I can catch. I know exactly what I intend to write, and I'm proud already.
The trouble comes in the act of writing.
Why is it I can find myself with so much inspiration, with topics or plots I'd love to explore, and yet want to do anything but sit down and actually type or write it out? The action seems like it'd be the easiest part, and yet I avoid it.
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