Dreams Flame Out

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

They say good writing comes from pain. The only thing that truly comes from pain, is pain.

Sometimes, I try to stimulate inspiration. I hunch my shoulders as if I’m about to pounce. I prime my mind – I warn it, get ready. And for a fraction of a second, it almost works. I feel as though I’m on the verge of the greatest writing.

And then I’m empty again.

Writing isn’t easy. It’s just as difficult, as boring, as down-to-earth as anything else.

Sometimes.

But what about the stories I write every minute of every day, inside my head? Are they enjoyable only to me? Are they a masterpiece in my eyes only because they are tailor-made to fit my every whim, my every need, my every secret fantasy?

For a long time, I have sought the secret to the perfect story. The one which appeals to everyone. The one that appears magically, fully formed, upon the page, and isn’t vulnerable to criticism from silly people who don’t know anything about it anyway.

And I know the correct answer to this question – there is no perfect story. There is no story that appeals to everyone, that fits everybody’s bill. The bit in Little Women where Jo edits her manuscript to try and appeal to all her family members’ sensibilities comes to mind constantly.

And yet, when my thoughts soar, in that world where my dreams are tailor-made and every story I tell is a masterpiece, this answer fades away.

Eventually, even those dreams will fade away. The Little Match Girl told us that. But just as she did, I strike matches with increasing desperation, knowing I’m running out, knowing the cold is closing back in. Anything to keep reality at bay, just for a little longer.