On another of my blogs, one that isn’t public, my entries are story ideas. They are bursts of inspiration lingering in the wings of my life, ripening in the background, waiting for their chance to be fleshed out and to breathe. I am more impatient than those ideas. I am tugged in many directions from the moment I wake until the iPhone hits me in the face at night when I’m trying to make my last Words With Friends moves. I visit the site and stare. Brain locked, fingers frozen.
I see this in Kid2, MiniMe. The kid goes great guns when she is first starting a project. Numerous times I’ve uncovered incomplete and late assignments while mining her chaotic room. Each time I do this, I am given a free lesson in what I was and how I need to always be vigilant about the clutter spots I have at home and in my brain. That’s why I have that blog. It helps me make sense of the ideas I have, it is that place I can go when I can finally be a wild writer.
When I was a newspaper reporter, writing was done on the fly in a crowded and noisy newsroom. I loved it, and it really taught me how to turn inward, to find that quiet place within my brain, and to focus on the tight deadline writing. I bet if I turned that kind of pressure on myself, I could march those stories out, one by one, and give them the spotlight they deserve.