“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day”
— Shakespeare’s Macbeth
Ah, Shakespeare. You say it best. Sometimes I feel this way, that today is yesterday repeated and so it goes ad nauseam. It is mightily discouraging and distressing if yesterday was not particularly eventful or fruitful–if indeed the past year’s worth of yesterdays look exactly the same. Sigh.
That is a mistake, though, is it not? Believing that the future must be as the past, that is. We find it difficult to imagine anything happening that we haven’t already experienced. I believe that is why stories are so important–we can experience a life very different from our own, a life that picks up where our imagination stops.
I can imagine all sorts of futures for myself, of course. But as a writer, I know all too well that the yarn I am spinning unravels when it collides with stark reality. My imaginative life quite literally cannot handle the truth.
There seems to be despondency in response to this revelation. Perhaps that’s why I am dragging myself to my keyboard to work on stories — my imagination is letting me down. The fanciful concoctions stand in sharp relief to reality, so blatantly implausible. It is hard to enjoy its rich imagery, to immerse myself thoroughly in its world when I know all too well it is but vapor.
Funny…I just realized something. I slid right from talking about how mundane the day-to-day is at the moment to writing. Hm. I find that quite encouraging. Even when I don’t want to write I want to write!