These moments of peace between the chaos of life are perfect for the weight of words. Left idle for even a moment my mind turns toward a racing condition. Thoughts build up and before you know it. Stacks of ideas end up competing to be at the forefront my thoughts. That is where things end up for the most part. Converting those ideas into some type of outcome requires taking things to a conclusion. It requires finishing things. Most major writing tasks are not single serving endeavors. They cannot be completed in one major writing session. Maybe that could be the natural end of a series of creative sessions. A few different sessions could produce something of merit. They could result into something of value. Turning ideas into a final draft or at least some type of manageable prose takes time.
Tonight for example… I have one hour right now that could be spent on anything. That one hour really does exemplify the perfect weight of words. Every minute taunts the possible. Each minute counts down toward what could be and quickly separates it from what happened. That is the natural path of things when you sit down to write for an hour and end up reflecting on life, part of the universe, and some things. Those moments of reflection were stole from the perfect possible outcome of an hour of uninterrupted epic prose creation.