It happened today. I fell in love again. That's right. I'm in love with my story. It's been a while. Our relationship was a fast and furious one. I pulled together all the ideas and put it down on my faithful word processor. We met together every day for weeks. I made time for it when I didn't think I could find time to even shower. (Good thing my story isn't a judgmental type. He put up with strange hours and lots of interruptions.)
Shortly after writing the fateful THE END on that perfect first draft, the flames fizzled. All my motivation drained down into the hard to reach areas of my left pinky toe. The rest of the world came between us with its insistent cries of "clean the house" and "feed the kids" and "pay the bills." The longer I let my poor story sit in the dark recesses, the harder it was to feel that same passion. I tried to resurrect it, but it seemed like a dying thing.
And now, the sun has broken through. I feel that desire to get working again. And for real, this time. Not the half-hearted attempts, but a full-fledged, throw myself off the balcony, run away to the circus sort of thing. I'm ready to feel the joy of doing something creative. Something that only I can do. Something that may not have any meaning to any one else, but is important because I feel like it is important.
You may have to take the backseat every once in a while, story, while I do the things that can't be ignored. Don't worry, though. I found you again, and this time, I think we can go all the way!