A Writer's Dilemma

Last week, Doug and I were house-sitting for his parents and I had the opportunity to chat with his younger sister, Sarah.  She was baking a scrumptious apple pie and I jumped on the opportunity to distract myself from much-needed planning.  As the hours passed, the conversation ebbed and flowed around friends, family, literature, life.  Turns out, Sarah and I share an all-too-often squelched passion for writing.  I thought back on my most reason drought and pondered aloud,

 "Why is it that happiness and written expression have such an antagonistic relationship?"  

Her eyes lit up in response:  "Oh, I know!  It's so true!"

We sat with this thought for a moment before I added:  "I mean, when I was desperately sad, lonely, angry, and generally filled to the brim with this brooding angst, man, the words would just pour out of me.  It was so beautiful!  So fulfilling!  But now, when I'm finally happy and content with my life and in a healthy relationship, it's like BAMB! gone."

She nodded, her lips pursed together in resigned affirmation.  Her brow furrowed as she attempted to roll out the pie crust without it cracking along the edges.  

"Some of my best writing sessions have been in the depths of great sadness.  Why is that?"

"I don't know." I replied.  "But it sucks."

     An hour later, I sit and watch the vanilla bean ice cream melt around an island of freshly-baked apple pie.  To my left rests the valley, lush and alive after the previous night's showers.  A wave of cloud creeps over the mountain tops, cascading down the slopes and covering the landscape with a fresh coating of misty goodness.  I scoop up the first bite: a perfect combination of ice cream, crust, and sugary apple.  The flavors combine to create a sensory experience that rivals most and I can't help but breathe in the beauty of the moment.   

     Looking back, I know that, ultimately, my mind was not focused on capturing that scene and labeling it with four-syllable words and brilliant figurative language.  I didn't have a story-line in my head; The Grande Adventures of Candecium were nowhere to be found.  And honestly, is that such a bad thing?  I can't help but wonder if such intellectual stimulation would have lessoned the moment somehow.  Perhaps the best kind of sensory reception involves feeling, living, being in that moment.  Experience is ultimately the best teacher and yes, that applies to writing as well.  So, for now, that's where I will be: experiencing what life has to offer.  I will continue to breathe in all of its smells, taste it's wonders: the sweet along with the bitter.  One day, my words will thank me for waiting and when the day comes when their story needs to be told, it will be with the unquenchable fire of a true writer.