The other night while out on the deck I had a sudden inspiration and a great opening line flashed into my head.
It was something like, "Everyone makes mistakes," or "Everyone has regrets," or "Everyone wishes he could have a do-over."
But it was none of those.
It was perfect.
It encapsulated the entire theme of the book in a single sentence.
Whatever it was.
The next day, I couldn't remember it. Only pale, lifeless imitations. What was I trying to say? What was the theme I had in mind?
I'll never know. No one will ever know.
It's gone like a bunny down a rabbit hole. Like a dandelion puff in a strong breeze. Like cold beer on a hot day.
Gone forever.
Damn, I should have written it down. I told myself to write it down.
It was perfect.
How sad is that?
4 comments:
I think all writers have learned that lesson the hard way. Now I carry a notebook!
Thanks for stopping by, Helen. Your book looks interesting.
I hate when that happens. Does this mean you're onto a new project?
When your mind flips to the trivial or passé, the inspiration -- the sine qua non -- is gone.
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