As I drove Isabel to school this morning, an unexpected wave of sadness engulfed me. The song I was listening to must have triggered it, the reference point was something real, but the train of thought went off in a fictional direction. I started thinking of harnessing the sadness and writing a story about people who would be considered ordinary, living what would most of us consider ordinary lives, who actually aren't all quite there. I thought of the main plot points, I even pictured specific scenes. But I struggle to come up with the actual words. I fear I am flat and laconic in my expression nowadays, and that I will struggle to convey the complexity of these characters.
Maybe I just need to stop whining and get cracking on the story. I have been dreaming up variations of this for some time now, and always stop short of actually writing the thing. I wish I could have some time off to write. Maybe I need to take a weekend off from house and family, or a couple of vacation days from work. Sort of like an accelerated writer's retreat, where instead of a long sabbatical to write a novel, you get two days off to crank out a short story. Could be a good idea, if I get my husband to agree to keep the girls. I would have to go away, though. If I stay in the familiar space of my home nothing will get done.