When I don’t know what to write, it’s like being lost in a forest. There’s no clear path, no markers for me to follow. I see countless possibilities, all of which look indistinguishable from one another. When I think I’ve found the right one, it takes on a nebulous form, appearing like the rest. None of them calls out to me. In this forest of stories and ideas, it’s like none of them are right for me.
To be on the right path, I need to stand still and think about what’s important to me, what I value the most. Then when I filter out the ideas and narrow it down to one, I know where to begin. The sunlight beams down through the leaves, the branches, revealing the path like the yellow brick road. And then I know where to go, what direction to take.
