|This is me writing. No makeup, yet fully dressed. A wild, coarse, lion's mane of locks. On the porch. Best place in the whole galaxy. I should be cleaning or putting something away, but... meh.|
I often wonder about certain writers and where and how they write. I like the glimpse. Here's a glimpse into my writing space if you were curious. And if you weren't curious, then sorry, I had nothing better to write about today, because I spent my brain on 3000 words yesterday, which is something I didn't even think I was in the market for, but my brain was all, Yeah, get in on that. That's a good investment. Sold! Sat down and let 3000 words fly. Now what I'm I going to do with that today? I'm wondering if I want to keep paying the fees on the deal, but I feel like I have to because we're in 3000 words deep, folks. Compulsive little fucker, that brain.
If I'm not perched on my porch, I may scribble some thoughts down on paper at a red light. Grocery receipts and bank deposit slips come in handy for a jot if the notebook is missing in action. If I can't find a pen, there's always the notepad on my phone. Organization isn't really my thing. OK, I'm SO NOT organized. Every thing is every where and as I float around, lost on whatever cloud I'm riding, I just grab this or that from here or there. Not being organized is not a bad thing. There's always the element of surprise. People have actually given a painful, winced look my way when they know the degree of my unorganizedness (totally just made that word up, because I couldn't find the real word in my messy chaos, and I'm ok with that) and I have to wonder how those perfectly organized people sleep at night if they're constantly making sure everything is in its place. That's gotta be exhausting. Here, come take a nap with your exhausted self in this pile of laundry that I haven't folded. Just throw those magazines over there somewhere out of your way. You want something to drink? Let me wash a glass first. I sleep like a baby, y'all.
The way I look for something to write with, and it could even be the tip of a burnt stick etching ash on concrete, is sometimes the way words are scrambled in my brain. I have to hone in on them, threatening them like small children. Get it together. Get in a line! Get organized! Stop running in circles! YOU CAN'T HAVE YOUR PUDDING IF YOU DON'T EAT YOUR MEAT! Yeah, right. These kids are badass, and sometimes they don't give a shit. I know they are flipping me the middle finger with gritted teeth and while dancing when I'm not looking. Bastards.
When there's too much insane in the membrane, I play music. The notes, keys, pitch and all of it get my brain in the right rhythm. Every single time. I listen to everything, but not so much country. Umm... never country. The music is always something I've heard a billion times, something so easy, that at the same time I'm listening to it, I almost can't hear it at all. Right now it's Fleetwood Mac. Usually it's the music from when I was really little; of whatever was playing on a record player back then. Music is such a wild thing. I adore music.
It's usually easier than it is hard, the writing. When it's hard there's the music. The music and the view from this screened in porch. To zone out on some trees and sky is a wonderful thing. Stephen King says to close the window when you write. Stephen - Steve - Steeevie dawling... Dude, no can do. Mostly I write in the mornings. My brain is on point in the morning. I could probably recite Shakespeare that I've never even read. I could probably work out all of Hawking's theories. I could probably save the ENTIRE world. Yeah, that's a big PROBABLY NOT on all three. But still. I'm good in the morning.
Whoever may be reading this, please tell me, what is your one major secret go-to to chill your head out and get your words flowing. I'll be your bestest friend. I'll even have the laundry folded and a glass ready.