Scenes scurry about in my mind. I am ready to sit down and write, but I cannot. There is grading to do and house cleaning and time to respond to a child’s needs and a husband’s desire to chat and then of course this blog. So when do I write? I tell myself that this urge to write that is thwarted continuously will just serve to drive my writing more furiously. Bottling it up will give it plenty of time to ferment. I remember when I was in grade school, the teacher got us involved in a project on how water moved from the surface during a rain to the water table below. We were to determine if our region had the right qualities to clean the water of contaminants as it moved down through the soil and thus produce good drinking water. The word “percolation” stuck always with me. And even then I imagined my ideas for stories were busy percolating through the soil and rocks of my mind, purifying and distilling the best of what would ultimately end in a story. I suppose every little thing that my ideas must stumble through or be delayed by must be improving on the overall result, making it more readable. That is what keeps me sitting here writing this blog knowing that the next thing I will have to do is grade and then go to bed because it will then be much too late to write if I want to function well at my work in the morning. Aw, weekend will you give me time to write?
