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The forces that drive me to write a story seem to come upon me at any given time. Once in a while, the urge to write comes with such force that I get angry at myself for taking so long to get to my computer.

Other times I can be working in my garden, and a story comes to me with such force that it drives me into the house to get typing. Other times I can sit in front of a piece of paper, or a computer screen nowadays, and the only thing I get is a blank.

Then comes a long dry stretch that no writing is done at all. No stories seem to jump out at me. Nothing grabs hold and gets my mind to thinking. This is the worst of times for a writer of many years, as no matter how long one has written, no matter how many stories they have brought to life, it seems that doubt in one’s self has a way of creeping in and saying, “You haven’t written in a month or so. Have you lost your touch? Are you as good as all those around you say you are? Really?”

Then you finally become angry at yourself and complacent. You say to yourself, “No, my feelings are wrong,” but in thinking this, you still do not write. You don’t want to even think about writing.

When a glimmer of a story comes to mind after a spell, you put it to the back of your mind and try to forget that it has decided to show itself. You move on to other things, anything, anything at all, other than writing.

The thing is though, you know deep down in your heart that you are a writer. A writer that lets words become your master, knowing these words will never leave you alone. They are working hard through your mind to get you to start writing once again and do their bidding.

Then it happens. You feel that maybe, just maybe, you have a story or two to be told. You then have doubts, and for some, fear is allowed to creep into your mind, and for the next week you say to yourself, “Who are you trying to kid? You know you can write, just set yourself down and start typing.”

This you do, and once again nothing happens. You strive hard to come up with a story, but the words are all jumbled and not making sense. You try to get them together, changing their ways and ideas to what you think is right. Nothing happens, nothing takes place. The empty computer screen is all you see.

How many times has it happened to me I cannot say, too many to count. Finally, you start thinking about the past stories you have written. You look at them, then read one or two and decide in your own mind and say, “I can’t remember even writing them stories, but I must have, as here is the proof.”

Another day, or week, or month passes by, and then something miraculous happens. From out of nowhere an urge, small at the time, starts taking place in your mind. You feel that you are again… being called to doing what you do best. You sit down, relaxed, and bring up the screen. For no reason whatsoever, you just start writing, and what does one see?

Words flowing like water through a summer’s stream in front of you, each word making sense and meanings emanating from within, telling what needs to be said. You soon realize, as many times before, that you are a writer of words and you have to write. The words are what rule, not you. That’s the real truth, and soon you start to realize this once again. You are once again on the way to bringing to life another story.

Do I have many days like this? I surely do. I sometimes wonder at night while laying in bed who indeed writes the stories that my fingers put forth and bring to life. Seems when I get to writing, it could be ten in the morning and when the story is finished, so is the day. Unusual in itself how these episodes come forth, and many a time you could see me shaking my head in disbelief, wondering where the day went. Where was I? Who or what took my mind over, as it undoubtedly wasn’t I, for I have no remembrance of anything for the past few hours.

I honestly feel that there is more than one of me. I think that my characters enjoy toying with me, souls of others taking me into their world and using me to bring forth their messages, messages that they didn’t have time to tell or say when they were alive. Human or critters, it seems they all enjoy the vessel of my hands and use them to write whatever they choose.

So what makes a good writer the way he or she is? I would say this, which came to me one night through a vision.

A good writer is able to capture the souls of others, and in doing so, he then allows the souls to go about their work without envy or jealousy. In other words, a good writer enables the words to tell a good story all on their own, without compromising them with thoughts of his own.

Another vision came to me one night that was simply put, told me this:

“Thoughts that vanish in the darkness are never seen again.”

I have to say that is so true, as many a night I have laid there in the darkness with stories of fantastic meanings flowing through me, only to think that I would remember, and by not writing them down, they were lost forever.

Today I listen to what my visions say. I write each one down for future reference, as I now know that beyond this human form there is a force of energy much, much greater than any mind can conceive.

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