It’s been a strange experience these last few days… I’ve rarely written more than 20 or 30 words without leaping from my document, pacing about or doing something else (like write a blog entry.)
But it’s funny how those words add up. – I guess this has been the closest I’ve come to stalling, but a dozen new pages have formed. It may not be my best prose, but it’s up there, and moving the story forwards. Perhaps distilling a day’s imagination into fewer words makes for better prose… – I don’t know.
What I do know is it doesn’t feel pleasant. Anxiety is a ticking clock which doesn’t wait for my next sentence. There’s too much to say, and I’m a long way into the second half of my life. Time was once a friend that whispered of summer holidays and Christmas morning, yet now it’s a swinging pendulum bearing a blade that slices another piece off my mortality.