I had a writing friend years ago who was absolutely prolific with her writing. She seemed to produce pages every week without effort, and never seemed to run out of story ideas. When she got her first book contract, she had ten completed novels hanging in the wings.
My husband is that way with story ideas. Mention an idea to him, he’ll get a flash of inspiration and riff off the idea into a myriad of directions. It’s daunting, let me tell you. It also comes in handy, so its not like I can complain. 🙂
While I envy both of them the ease with which their minds create alternate realities, mine works more like a slow burn, gradually building in the back of my brain until it flares into my conscious mind. Sometimes it takes hours. Or I sleep on it, directing my subconscious dreams to show me the way. Sometimes it can elude me for days, hanging just out of reach.
Why am I writing about this? That’s where I’m at right now. The answer I need is hovering just out of my reach. I can feel it, hanging like a heavy fog in the back of my mind. Try as I do, I can’t get my hands wrapped around it yet. Which is frustrating, because the whole of my story hangs on the answer.
This isn’t a bad thing, though. When something takes this long to form, it usually means the flare that comes will be amazing. I’m looking forward to that.