Sometimes when I want to write a short story, I sit staring into space and trying to think of ideas, only the ideas won’t come. It’s like trying to do jigsaw. First you have to find all of the pieces, and then you have to decide how they are meant to fit together in order to build the picture.
At other times I find that I have the whole picture. It’s there. It’s complete. It’s in my head. Then it is just a case of laying all of my pieces out on some paper, and watching as the picture recreates itself in black and white, paragraph by paragraph.
There are plenty of times when the jigsaw is missing, though, and I find myself staring into space in a desperate bid for inspiration. Anyway, at the moment I am very happy with the jigsaw that I’m doing. It’s big one, so if I don’t put it aside, it will keep me amused for ages.
So what happens? I get 2 more puzzles pop into my head. They’re there. They’re complete. They’re in my head. Only I don’t have time to lay them on paper, because if I do the pieces of my other puzzle might get lost.
Isn’t life ironic sometimes?