Last week while on a run, a story idea took hold in my mind and over the course of my five-miler in the dark morning hours, I stacked ideas upon each other like tiny Lego pieces until I had a great outline for a story. When I returned home, I rushed to my computer and quickly captured the essence of the outline before it dissipated in the chaos of my workday. The clarity of the ideas and the beauty of the story flowered in my mind with great passion. I was visibly excited about the story and words flowed from my frantic fingertips and zipped across the white space on my screen with nary a pause or question.
It’s not often that this happens with such ease. I’m always thinking about the things I can write, but sometimes the ideas are only half-seen like the tip of an iceberg and require some extensive thought to hash out and become full-fledged stories. In fact, this describes most of my ideas. But occasionally, an idea comes to me in its fullest form and momentum takes hold as I fill in the blank spaces with a gusto reserved for Italian opera singers. That was the case on this morning.
The amazing thing about these occurrences is how they manifest themselves physically. Each step I took on that run not only propelled me forward, but I felt like I was floating effortlessly along the trail. Even my usually dull headlamp seemed to brighten in the space before me. The rhythm of my breathing accelerated but not in a way that suggested exhaustion – more like accomplishment. My lungs drove the machine that thrived in the creation of a good story. I have an unbridled passion for running, which is only exceeded by my love of writing. There’s a symbiosis there, and when the two come together, as they did on this morning, everything is amplified.
Later in the week during my usual writing time, I sat down in my chair with my laptop perched on my legs and started filling in the gaps of the outline. I thought back to my run and how the ideas flowed freely. I recaptured that feeling in a motionless sense, and once again, the words flowed from my fingertips as if I were possessed. By the time my hour was up, I had a bunch of pages written and was well on my way to creating the story I had originally envisioned.
It felt good to get it out, but I didn’t want to stop. I could have spent the entire day writing, but, unfortunately, there were other obligations to meet. I tore myself away from the laptop and ventured out into my day. I could not quite get the story out of my mind. I didn’t want to lose that creative trance that made writing seem effortless, easy.
The next morning I returned to my story and the words once again came without much effort. I realized the passion I felt for this particular story transcended time and place. Whether I was running or sitting in my chair, this story had a life of its own. I just lived in it. I knew then that I didn’t have to fear losing my momentum on this story. It would come whenever I needed it because I had a story to tell.