Word Weary

The English language is a pot pourri of wonderment. A puzzlement, a bag of confusion.

As a writer, words are my spring board to the stories I want to tell. My word bag over flows and yet there are times, I delve inside it and it is bare. They have escaped and refuse to show themselves. Try as I may, they evade capture and I retreat. Lost, confused, wading around in a fog. Like butterflies flitting from flower to flower, never settling.

Try another day and there they are, laughing, crying, rolling over themselves to be used seen and heard. So many of them, screaming to be linked together. Sentences desperate to be read, images eager to display.

I have been in such disorder with words this last week, I have struggled to make sense of anything I have attempted to bring to life. I realised after some word bashing it was my own fault. The inventiveness of the story had stalled and no way forward could be found.

I abandoned it and swept into a ‘maybe another day’ file. Then another day came and with it the flow I had been desiring. The story became re-energised and the words became an avalanche on to the page. Tricky little creatures words. It’s easy to tire of them and yet when they show themselves in all their glory they are to be applauded.

It is with renewed vigour my tale of Edward and Ellie are now back on track.

‘I have nothing left to give you Ellie, you have stolen my heart and my very essence. I am a soul drained.’ Edward felt his nerve giving way.

‘What am I to do Edward? Deny my truth to you and sever our love? I cannot do that for I am empty without you.’

‘Then we are damned, forever my love.’

A little on the flowery side but I love it when the words weave a way you least expect.

Thanks for dropping by.

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