I can feel it . . .

It's moving around inside me. It's been there for a while now. I keep waiting for it to mature and emerge but it's taking it's sweet time.

It's driving me crazy.

It's an idea for a story. I know when it's ready that it'll be a really good one, intense, powerful, with a bittersweet ending.

Unfortunately that's about all I know about it so far. I've got a setting and the very beginnings of a plot. And a basic theme--it'll be about how love is not possible without pain, and the more one loves someone the more pain one will feel.

It'll also be a study in contrasts. I love having really beautiful stories set in places of almost unimaginable horror. Finding beauty in places of horrendous ugliness. Swans in sewers. Roses in hell. It makes for some moving, powerful stories.

So, it's really frustrating that my subconcious apparently still isn't quite ready to vomit this thing up. I've learned from experience that attempting to start something before it's ready is a big mistake, and could possibly ruin it for me down the road.

Which means I wait. And wait. And wait . . . that blank first page will remain blank until it's really and truly ready to be filled.

Dammit!