Writing

Under a spell that cannot be understood, nor comprehended by a mere coupling of words, I find myself intertwined, almost held prisoner to. A wave of creativity builds over me as a pyramid of inspiration. It does nothing but consumes, and manipulates my body, brain and hands. I am willingly wrapped up in an alternate world of possibilities, an indivisible realm of reality. In which I am transfixed on pen and paper, nothing is or remains important. The inspiration takes over my hand as if it were a puppet, ignoring everything except for the inspiration that it spills on to paper via ink with such intensity the devil himself would go mad.

I am possessed by the characters in my mind that want to have there story between lines, for all to see and hear. Not in such a way of being held hostage, but to the direction of taking a wild ride that won’t stop until it’s had its fun. Explaining this phenomenon that is in fact controlling me at this very second, is like trying to teach algebra to an infant. Its nature is indescribable, unimaginable, and unpredictable, almost to the point of being unreal. The first feeling comes as a shock at first, but it does well at relaxing the brain and body, to let it do the work for me. My ideas speak for themselves, as well as my writing. My hands and paper are only a surrogate to my imagination.