All of a sudden today–right in the middle of daily life (when there’s no time at all)–I sit to write the paragraph I’ve been mulling over for a month. It’s as if it just overflows out of me naturally and easily. I’m just catching words as they fall.
Why can’t it always be this way?
I think about overflowing things. Overflow, as a noun, denotes excess or surplus that the available space can’t accommodate.
Maybe, the thing I’m thinking about must become so large in me that it runs over. If the writing’s not flowing, maybe the thing isn’t large enough to me yet.