Over the years, I've often wished I could rid myself of the clutter that fills my mind. I could use that new found space to help focus on one thing instead of one hundred. If I could direct all of that clutter and focus it on one item, I'd accomplish a lot more.
Perhaps I could learn to perform basic maintenance on my own car. Maybe I could build a wine cellar. I could finally repair the flat tire on my bicycle. Most importantly, I could find the focus to finish one play or one story before jumping into the next one.
Stories have been started, stopped, and recaptured over the years. Ten pages turn into twenty, then forward momentum comes to a screeching halt. I'm off to another project, leaving behind a manuscript to collect dust for months on end.
Years of notebooks have been filled with ideas, lines of conversation and Venn diagrams. Many sit idle as they line the bookshelves in my apartment. Boxes I haven't looked through in years hold …