Sometimes story ideas hit you harder when you are least expecting them.
You know what I mean, right? Let me paint the picture for you:
You’re walking along (or sitting watching television or something else fairly mindless) when BOOM, you have an idea for a story (or poem). And it isn’t just an idea, apparently, because the urge to write it is so strong it overrides every other need in your life. This is like some sort of Super Idea. Eating, sleeping, showering, peeing; they can wait. You’ve got an idea for a story and there’s no stopping it now. You lose control of yourself, surrendering to the writing. Your hands are typing words faster than your eyes can register them and you decide you’ll read them when you have finished. And it takes a lot less time to finish this than your usual writing; you don’t stop to check Facebook or deviantART several times, or to do something around the apartment. No, if you can’t pee, you can’t do anything else until this piece is done.
When you finally finish it, the idea releases you from the throes of writing. You’ve got a cramp in your left hand, your eyes ache from staring at the screen so long and your butt is numb from sitting so still in your chair. You read what you have written, despite sore eyes, and are amazed at the result. While part of your mind recognizes your writing style, you are mostly in shock at what you have produced. It’s some of the best work you’ve ever done, and it’s only a short story (or poem). Small, but far from insignificant.
This, my friends, is what being a writer is about. All the stories and poems you write that take you so very long to get down on paper are worth it, they are. They are still your creation and you love them as much as you can. But the pieces of writing that attack you, slam you into a chair and force you to write are the ones that you end up being most proud of. Maybe it is some sort of Stockholm syndrome, where we feel a deep love and affection for our captor. Whatever it is, this is the writing we long for. When we go weeks, or even months, without having a writing idea attack us we start to panic. We wonder if we’ve lost it, if the ability has left us. And then, just when we’ve given up, we get struck by an idea and willing fall captive once again.