Funny what inspires me into fits of writing.
There are so many times, and so many things that I think of to express in words. But I am turned off by the amount of work that word formation requires. Truly and honestly- there is no other way to put it. I don't like to write- it is too much work; and I love to write, because when done well, it can transform minds and moments. It is just so much darn work to accomplish good writing. Forget excellence. I was content to leave that behind long ago- not to mention the time that it takes. Good grief. The craft can suck minutes down in an instant- and then the outcome can still be indistinct and subject to the reader.
And then, there are other moments- when I forget about all of the work; because the words are coming whether I want them to or not. There is no invitation. I am moved- possessed even- by a will, a vision greater than my own; and words flow, as if written by their own volition. The mad insanity of moments passes and I look upon paragraphs of content. Written and done; and I am waking from a dream.