Words fail me 2 - The revenge

The words are back and - what do you know? - they're full of energy.

Jumping up and down on the mattress at all hours of the night. Tugging at my sleeve during mealtimes. Springing out from behind trees and bushes when I'm walking the dog. They're running me ragged.

And they won't queue and wait their turn. Oh no. They all have to be heard and they have to be heard now. Novel, play, short story, blog. They all want a piece of me, and, in the words of Star Trek's Scotty, 'I cannae hold her much longer, Captain. She's gonna blow.'

I'm doing my best. Scribbling them down as soon as I can, wherever I can. The backs of shopping lists, the white spaces on takeaway menus.  

Of course, serious writers carry little notepads with them, in their bags and pockets and car glove compartments. And when serious writers wake up at 3am with a killer opening sentence, there, right next to them on the pillow, is a fresh supply of writing paper and pens that work and sharpened pencils. Or that's what the words keep telling me.

But I've got a plan to quieten the little blighters down.

I'm going to give them a competition deadline.

Then we'll see who's up first in the morning.