Where Have All the Stories Gone?

Story writers tend to wend their way through the writing world in fits and turns. Life intervenes often. Life sets tone and mood. Life drives passion. Life kills momentum. Life overwhelms confidence. Life sets resolve.

Life dominates the writer's perspective. Whether we wish to present ourselves as strong, well-put-together folk, the bottom line stands glaringly on the side of the fact that our lives compel us to jot down our words in particular fashions. Each writer owns a similar story, yet each possesses their unique perspectives and emotional persona's which allow individuality to shine through in their writing.

At this moment in time, my writing feels threatened and hindered by the reality of money for food and bills. The pressures of life in this crazy age of communication, high-speed communication, overwhelm me at times. Information as well. This digital age steals something from each of us. We do not care to look at what we lose when the computer or phone or tablet or notebook or whatever device demands our attention away from that which we adore - writing.

When we create, we feel something. The intangible description of that 'something' defines our writing style. That intangible drives us to bleary-eyed composition. That intangible serves as our reward for the often thankless job of concocting stories for others to read. Yes, we create for our enjoyment, yet we also desire others to read and enjoy and possibly glean and understanding of our view of life in some manner.

Often, the more we deny our muse, the more insistent the demand to write. The muse knows we will break down. The pressure exists at once subtle as well as irrefutable. At times, I wonder where my stories ran off to. I wonder if I will ever pen (or key) another. Then the pressure-desire-passion-overwhelming need to write kicks in and I marvel at the process and why my participation in said process has been lacking of late. What in the world could compel a writer to stop writing?

All my writer friends out there know the answer to that question. Again, for each of us, the answers manifest quite similarly, yet unique to the life of the writer. I am reminded at this point of Arthur and the quest. Each of our answers to the question, "Where Have All the Stories Gone?" can be summed up simply in the concept of "quest".

At the moment we begin our quest to find our stories, we conceive these very same stories. They burst into life through our active pursuit of their tales. The mechanisms instill wonder when one contemplates the phenomenon. Like Arthur and like Dorothy in Oz and many other grand depictions of discovering our 'hearts' desire', the trek embodies the magic, the passion and the satisfaction of the goal.

Whenever you feel your stories know death all too well, and you crave their re-emergence, take note of the well-worn adage that every adventure begins with a step. We writers often stymy that first step, but once we determine to move forward, watch out. Words may flow like a black avalanche or trickle like a singing brook, but they will paint our stories nonetheless.

Our stories never leave our heart. We allow life to distance us from our own hearts. When we regain our perspective, whether we dive back into our internal heaven's or hell's holds no sway - our writing will contain the connection to that aspect within us that drives the particular story that emerges. We write stories best when we connect with our heart. Unless we abandon our heart, we will never exist more than a heartbeat away from our next story.