Would Love To...

...write a tome.

I feel that I'm coming up against a limit. I distinctly know what I want to write...I would like to write a story, and publish a book of poetry, respectively. 

And just now, I thought to myself: how are architects, musicians, painters, sculptors, photographers...able to bring forth their creations? In some cases, it is more straightforward: a homeowner wants an A-frame or a steel roof or a log cabin, and the builder knows what the end result is, and how to acquire it. It merely takes the effort.

But for a musician...there have been countless songs I've heard over the years that contain sounds I would not know how to ask for, made by instruments I don't even know the names of. 

That is when things get difficult. 

You come upon a piece of music you've never heard before, and you love it, and yet...you would not know how to have asked for it on your own, with no way to describe it. 

So....I have a style, an idea of the sound I want in my writing...but unlike music, there has to be a form for it to exist in. It's hard even to explain what I mean. I have the nuance, the cigars, the brandy, the far northern shores, and gardens to wander in...but no context, no story, nothing to put it in. 

So...it'd be like knowing the sound I want, but not having an instrument to create the sound with. Kind of. 

Because I want to create a very, very special book. The kind I would want to find in a library that exists in my dreams...I want to, as nearly as humanly possible, to pull something into this dimension from the land of dreams...
Not talking about anything occult. At all. Ever. 

No. I mean...when you're riding a swing set, and part of your mind wants to step out onto the air, and keep walking upwards...I want to put on paper, the stillness of Christmas Eve, the whispers of the crackling fire...I want to be the headlands with arms crossed against the breakers, and to be the breakers rolling in ten-abreast like a freight train towards that shore...to be the the notes of a wind chime...and the reflection of moonlight on rattling corn stalks in October...

But there needs to be a form...I want to live in that world...