Last night I was struck by a vivid image in my head that I had to write down. It occurred at 12:10 AM just as I was trying to brush my teeth and hit the hay. I had spend the last hour cleaning my kitchen because I wouldn't have time again until Saturday to do it, and my mother is babysitting tomorrow so that just wouldn't do. There was cat food all of the floor, a sink full of dirty dishes, and counters that had dust on them. Dust. So I stayed up and cleaned, finishing with a swiffer of the floor. Perhaps it is the mundane task that spurred on some creativity.
This scene in my head was important. It was character driven, and looking into the mirror as I brushed my teeth I saw the scene play out like I was watching a movie. It begged to be recorded. So instead of waiting to the morning to try to recapture (and remember) it all, I turned the computer on and wrote. I also sat on the cat, but that was her fault. She was in my chair.
It has been awhile since I last did that. Sat and wrote fiction. I only knocked out 250 words, but it felt nice. I usually try to remember the scenes the next day and come up with empty generalizations.
Man and woman in hotel room. Woman jumps out window.
I'm pretty sure something is missing there.
I used to write down all my crazy thoughts and have notebooks full of scraggly handwriting from my 20s that could possibly get me committed if someone thought they were journals and not writing exercise books. This morning I read over the only poem I've had published--about 8 years ago--and edited it on my second read through. I could do much better now.
So I'm pretty happy right now that I have 250 words of a scene done, and hope it grows into more. Especially because right now I am writing an article on a stone wall for the paper. Dull as bricks it is.
2 weeks ago