…do you ever feel like you’re going to drown in all the stories that are tumbling around inside your head, just waiting to be written?

I do.  There are so many, and they come at me in flashes and tiny snippets.  Moments of dialogue.  Flares of pain from a particularly sad monologue.  The connection to the characters are fleeting because as soon as I’m invested in a scene that’s playing like a Spielberg flick inside my head, it fades away and makes room for another one from a completely different story, with yet another set of characters who have a story to tell. And they come at me, firing like a barrage, when I’m at work, perhaps counseling an employee or working on a spreadsheet and can do absolutely nothing about them other than jot down a few notes and try to refocus on my day job (the thing that makes me money.)

When I finally do have a few quiet moments to write (after the mundane chores of daily life are done), I have to listen to who’s the loudest, which story is burning inside my mind during that particular moment.  Then, I can finally pound out a scene, where I imagine it being pulled from my brain in a wispy, silvery strand like a memory going into the Pensieve in the world of Harry Potter.  Only once I have a few scenes down can I breathe easier.  Finally.  They’re out.  My brain has room to focus again.

But the respite never lasts too long.  There’s always something to be written.