I have this notion as millions of neurons pop like firecrackers in my brain that words ought to erupt in a beautiful display of literary nuance sprawling across the page. And yet, despite the firing-squad in my mind, I just sit and stare at a sterile screen. Perhaps I’m staring through the screen as I wait for one volcanic explosion of brilliance to jolt my sleeping fingers awake. Usually, stillness ensues.
Do I too often sit under a starry sky and look up with anticipation only to find the night still void? Fireworks lined up and waiting don’t ignite themselves. It takes a spark. Only the spark can’t spontaneously flicker into action. Someone has to light the match and walk over to commence the breathtaking show. Without action, both the fireworks and the spectator wait; The brilliance and beauty of what could be are only a listless hope.