Hide and seek

Where do you look 

for poems, for stories,

where do you find the words 

you need to write,

where are they hiding, waiting 

for you to discover them?

It's like playing a game 

of hide-and-seek, isn't it?

You search inside your journal, between 

the blank pages, hoping to find them there,

or you look inside the barrel of your pen

wondering if they're concealed there,

or you examine the book you're reading

to see if they might have gotten lost in its pages,

or you look outside your office window on the chance

they might be floating like clouds in the air

and all you need to do is

reach out and grab them,

or maybe they went for a ride on the wings

of the crows cawing above the roof

and you just have to wait

for them to return,

or maybe they're like beads on a string

wrapped around your wrist

only you can't see them until

you reach for your pen and open your journal 

and begin moving your hand across the page 

like this.

Each day is like opening a book

Each day is like opening a book

and finding another poem

waiting for you

sunlight or clouds on the page

shadows or raindrops

the sound of the wind

the silence of snow falling

of clouds passing by

each morning a different poem

lighthearted or sad

a moody melody

a gleeful reprise

the moment you open your eyes

you can hear

the song of a new day

words filling your ears

sounds you never heard before

syllables that roll off your tongue

letters spilling onto the page

one after the other

a stream in flood

pulling you into the day

filling your lungs with air

with life, with gratitude

for whatever appears 

on the page

beneath your pen 

Full steam ahead

Full steam ahead

you mustn't look back

no glancing over your shoulder

at the pages you've written

or the days that came

before this one

eyes front

even though you can't see

what's coming 

you must step into the unknown

with hope

with faith 

it will all fall into place

even if you don't know how

(you never know how)

but here we are again

writing

filling the blank page

(how wonderful is that?)

still not knowing 

where the words come from

or how they find their way 

onto the page

they just do

guided by an invisible hand

an angel, perhaps, 

watching over you

You must embark

Each morning you put pen to paper hoping words will appear. 

You never know what you'll write and so you write to find out what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

First, you have to summon the courage to face the blank page. 

Only then can you begin the journey you need to make to an unknown place.

Yes I know, you're unsure of your destination, the same way a bird might lose its way in a storm, and you might seek familiar landmarks that tell you which way to go, and where home is, and how to get there.

Only there are no landmarks. 

There are no signs pointing the way. 

You know only one thing: you must embark. 

You must step into the water. 

You must start swimming.

Even though you have no clue where you're going.

Or how you'll get there.

What will you write?

What will you write about
in the days ahead?

The future is unknown
blank pages waiting
to be filled.

You can't know ahead of
time what words will come
or if they'll come at all.

You can't know if you'll
be able to break through
the wall of silence

or if you'll be trapped
unable to speak,
your voice not even
a whisper.

You can't know what
you don't yet know.

You only know what's
in your hand now--
the pen you're holding
the paper beneath your hand
the shadow of the pen
moving across the page.

Whatever words appear
from whatever source
they flow out of,
however they emerge,
will reveal what you
know and what
you don't know.

The future will unfurl
from the present, just
as the present unfurls
from the past.

You will only know
what you'll write about,
looking back, after
you have written.

Stepping Into The Unknown

In my work-in-progress, I feel that I’ve arrived at a turning point, and the question that keeps repeating itself is this: Where does the story need to go next?

To be honest, I don’t know.

The outline that I started weeks ago doesn’t help. Since writing the opening pages, I’ve veered off the path.

I don’t feel like I’m stuck in a swamp. It feels more like I’ve found my way into open terrain, a vast plain, with nothing visible on the horizon.

The trouble with being unable to see anything on the horizon is that it’s not clear which way to go. There is no path. I have to remind myself no one before has ever traveled this route.

My initial impulse to this overwhelming uncertainty is to flee. I want to leave the manuscript in my backpack and take out another project to work on.

But then I stop myself from reaching for another project. There is no reason to flee, I tell myself, no reason to shy away from the unknown.

If I can pause for a moment and notice the world around me, I can see where I am.

It may not be familiar territory. It may be a place where I’ve never been before. But if I can let go of my fear of the unknown, I can sense what’s in front of me.

Not a path, exactly. Just the hint of a faint vibration pulling me one way rather than another.

I can take a risk, step into the water, and swim toward whatever's pulling me to see where it will lead.

If it begins to feel like I’m swimming away from my story, I can start over. I can set off in another direction.

So I begin to reread the pages of my work-in-progress.

I review the outline hoping to detect the hint of an arc, an arrow pointing the way that I need to go next.

Two hours later... after re-immersing myself in revisions... I found something unexpected.

The plot began to unfold.

But only after I took that first step into the unknown.

Stepping into the unknown--taking that leap of faith--was the key.

What about you? What do you do when you no longer know where the story needs to go? How do you find your way? How do you convince yourself to leap, to step into the unknown?

Write and let us know when you get a chance.