Waiting In The Bushes

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

An ebbing undercurrent of an unknown emotion keeps me from starting. What is at the root of this hesitation? I know that I love writing, so why am I avoiding it? I really don’t know, but I want to understand so I can move past it. 

There is a method that I use when I want to understand something about myself; I ask “is it X?” My subconscious will answer with a yes or a no. It is a feeling, a knowing. If I get a “Yes” answer, then I’ll dive deeper and ask why. If it is a “No” answer, then I’ll keep asking questions until I land on a “Yes” answer. It often feels like a conversation with myself.

“Why do I feel this wall that keeps me from even trying to write?” I ask myself.

I’m answered with another question. “Do you feel this way about all writing?” 

“No, I am not afraid of all writing; I can journal, I can write my thoughts (such as these) without any anxiety. It is the writing of fiction that causes the angst.”

I sit and wait…

It appears to be trepidation of not knowing what to say… Aha! I just hit the root. I’ve been sitting here for an hour with a story and nothing is coming to me. Is this the dreaded writer’s block? How interesting! I love solving problems. How do I wiggle my way out of this one? Now, I understand this has held me back before. I give up when the writing doesn’t come easy. But not this time!

The story lies just beneath the surface, I can feel it. It taunts me. She is so close to telling me her secrets. How do I coax her forward? I switched my music playlist to something more aggressive. The beat of action and danger pulses through the next scene. I lay down a breadcrumb snare and step back into the bushes; watching, waiting…