Yesterday

Riding on the wind into a space where time doesn’t exist. Yesterday. Its paths, its choices, its rounds of applause – all gathered together in a neat bundle to be lost to the very hands of time which birthed it. A void, it seems…perhaps a black hole. Where memories are born because it is a time which no longer exists. For when looking upon it, we are indeed in a time beyond, never to grasp those feelings again. Never to behold those same majestic triumphs. Never to gaze upon our hearts in quite the same manner again. For it was yesterday.

As predictably as the sun rises and sets, so too do the passing hours evolve into a day forgotten – a day which can never be gained, never be earned, and never be touched. A day that we might wish to frame to be remembered for eternity. Or a day that we might wish never to look upon again, cursing the very memory.

Yesterday. We have no choice in the matter. For today is where we stand, no matter how hard we try to bend the hands of time. No matter how much we may want to relive, or perhaps take back – it is lost. And if we were capable of returning to that precious point in time, would we indeed choose a different path? Or have the consequences born of that moment turned our minds and forced us to grow, making us realize that no matter the desperation…yesterday must remain untouched?

Today is the eternity we longed for yesterday. Tomorrow is the forever we long for today. And this very hour must be lived with the knowledge that it can never be breathed again. For it too will be lost. It too will be but yesterday, riding on the wind into a space where time doesn’t exist.

The First Sentence

If someone asked me what the most difficult part of writing a novel was, I might say it's writing the very first sentence - or the first sentence after writer's block has had its way with my mind.

I recently picked up a novel of mine that I had started to write over five years ago. At the time, I wrote about 30,000 words then stopped when I got a new idea for a different novel. This particular unfinished work sat unfinished for years. I often thought about it but for some reason, wasn't ready to pick it back up again.

Eventually, I did. I read through the plot, made some changes and I laid it all out, using my favorite "sticky note" method. But even after that, I had yet to type the first words that would come after where I'd left off years prior.

Strange as it may sound, writing those first words can be the scariest. It's starting over again. It's the first step in saying "I'm still dedicated to this book." It's setting up the possibility that I may never be able to finish the work for one reason or another.

Thankfully, with this certain book, I successfully started writing it again. I've gained 2,000 words and more is coming. After I finally got started again, I'm rediscovering the joy of the plot I thought of so long ago.

Sometimes when I start a book, I get the same feeling. I can have it all laid out perfectly and know exactly where I want the plot to go, but typing those first words... it's like free falling into an icy river - a thrill but once I hit, I've got to swim to survive.

The first sentence... maybe the hardest, but also the most thrilling.