It was during Macklemore's Can't Hold Us that I heard him.
Maybe it was more like I saw him. In the locker room with his buddies, messing around like high school boys do before a football game. I could see the shine in his eyes, the way he gripped the towel he was about to flick toward his best friend, the way the other guys were crowding around him and bouncing to the beat of the song in the background.
I was driving to my sister's bachelorette party when this happened. Cinema-like-clarity, almost needing to pull over to capture the words because they were tumbling out-out-out so fast I could barely whisper them into the voice recorder quick enough.
Finally. After months of editing, rewriting, hating, rewriting, editing, rewriting and finally loving Every Shattered Thing, I knew the next step for Kevin's novella.
That was almost a month ago.
Days pass so quickly now.
It's like I blink and another day is gone and I stare at my computer and think to myself tomorrow I'll write. Tomorrow I'll get down that scene.
But it never happens.
Here's a confession: somewhere in the corners of my mind I wonder if I'll ever be able to write another book.
I mean, I know I will—I have too many ideas. But in this moment? Right now? Staring at the expanse of the empty page and the ugly beginnings? It's kind of ridiculous how paranoid and intimidated I feel.
So I sit my ass in the chair and write. One word. Then another. Then another. I remember the advice I gave Story Sessions just last week about how it takes those ugly-small-beginnings to ever make something one might read on a kindle or hold in their hands and so I remember. I breathe deep. I place my hands on the keyboard and close my eyes and wait for that beginning.
I start small.
Just one word.
And then another.
And then those words become a sentence.
That sentence turns into a chapter.
And before I know it, I'm right in the middle of a story I thought I'd never see again.
This is part of Lisa-Jo's Five Minute Friday. Join us? The topic this week is WRITE.