Ideas

I never really give much thought to where my ideas come from. I'm just grateful that ideas occasionally pop into my head so I can write.

Yesterday, maybe for the first time, or maybe it's always this way and the old brain just can't remember, I was reading my Page-A-Day calendar page and - brilliant illumination, blinding almost, I had to reach for the sunglasses - BAM (Emeril at his best)!!!! Yes, an idea out of nowhere. I wasn't even looking for the pesky thing and there it was slapping me - repeatedly, I might add - in the face. On a Page-A-Day calendar page no less.

So, I made a note to myself to save the page. I tore it off this morning and laid it on my desk. You'd think that would be enough? Right? Well, of course it wasn't enough, life is not that simple. Fate is a capricious entity at times. I'm minding my own business, making my oatmeal and coffee (no, I don't mix them together . . . but there's an idea) and I was like . . . what if . . . yes, the idea monster was doing twirls in my brain in some nice stiletto heels. The back of the calendar page is now filled with notes since the pesky little idea that began to form yesterday just won't leave me the heck alone. I have things to do - life, work, walk the dogs in the pouring rain that may or may not turn to snow, and blah, blah, blah.

Well, now that I've rambled on and totally gotten off the original point of this post. Where in the heck do your ideas for writing come from? One of my best came from a pitcher of margaritas. Most of them, however, just form in the depths of my imagination and somehow emerge into a coherent - or, in some instances, not so coherent - story. I just never thought about the actual catalyst for the idea until this morning when I was reading the calendar page once more.

Why is it I never considered the catalyst for my ideas before now? Do all writers just have moments of epiphany? Or, is there always a catalyst and we just don't recognize the catalyst? Are there more ideas waiting in my Page-A-Day (Forgotten English) calendar? Will I flip to March 1 and - brilliant illumination, blinding almost, I had to reach for the sunglasses - BAM (Emeril at his best) again???? I have no clue. I just thought I'd send this question out to the masses (yeah, right!) who read this blog.

S

The intensity of . . .

. . . the writing has diminished. It is not because my passion for the project has diminished, but rather because I have neared the end of the rough draft phase of the current project. This is always a bittersweet time for me. I absolute LOVE the driving passion of the first bloom of a project. I love it even MORE when that passion becomes obsession and I am able to bang out the rough draft (as in this case) in a few weeks. Intensity can only be sustained for a limited amount of time before it begins - at least in my case - to wear the person down. So, bittersweet as the moment is, I am thankful that the intensity has diminished as well. I need a night on the couch with the boyz (Jesse and James, my cocker spaniels). I need some time away from the project before I begin the read-through/edit phase of the project.

At this point, I'm just scrolling back through and inserting a few "filler" chapters here and there to tie everything together. A time will soon come when the project is set on the back burner to simmer for a few weeks. Such is life . . .

The whirlwind . . .

. . . of this current writing project is nearing an end. The ferocious (can you belive I spelled this word correctly???) winds have begun to decrease in intensity. The obsession begins to wane. There is a sense of both relief and disappointment. It has been far too long since I wrote with such passion and drive. I dropped into bed each night exhausted after hours of writing at the end of each work day. The weekends were a frenzy of writing and very little socialization. The poor dogs (Jesse and James) would stare at me longingly and wonder why I wasn't on the couch with them allow them to wallow all over me. Don't worry, I didn't neglect them entirely, not to mention there are two of us in the house, so the dogs do get a ton of attention. I just didn't spend as much time with them as I normally do. That should change by the end of the week.

I'm 72,000 words into the project in a little over two weeks. I should finish by this coming weekend. I have just a few more chapters to complete on the rough draft stage. Again, there is a sense of relief and disappointment. Then again, such is the writing life. Once I finish the rough draft I will set it aside for a few weeks and go back to editing another process. I also need to send out another query letter and then . . . as usual . . . wait and wait and wait some more.

S

Once upon a time . . .

. . . there were three little girls who went to the Police Academy. Wait, sorry, wrong ending - flashback to the 70s. Hate it when that happens. Let me try again.

Once upon a time, the writing became an obsession. The man wrote and wrote, could think of nothing else, and began - for the most part - to isolate himself from the world. Luckily, his beloved partner was a caring and compassionate individual who endured the obsessive stage of writing.

Flash forward a few years later. For whatever reason, the obsessive stage of writing has begun again. Last night, all I wanted to do was write. Unfortunately, life - dinner, walk the dogs, pay attention to my partner of almost fifteen years before he goes into work, feed the cats, and such and such and such and such - sometimes interferes. Arrrrgghhhh! So, my partner decides to dawdle last night, to talk about this and that, that and this, this and that . . . and all I want to do is write. I nodded and smiled, made a comment or two . . . but all I wanted to do was write. Finally, my partner leaves for work. Hallelujah!

No, I'm really not that bad of a person. It is so rare when the obsession stage of writing hits me, that my frustration level just seems to rise and rise and rise. I love my partner. He's put up with me for almost fifteen years. He deserves multiple awards for that feat. I'm definitely not the easiest person to live with in the Universe. Still, he loves me and I guess that's all that really matters in the world.

Now, back to my writing. I don't question why the words flow, or when they flow. I just - sorry - go with the flow. I try to be a nice person during the obsession stage. I try not to let my frustration show. Pushing a man out the door can lead to suspicious thoughts forming in said man's mind. I've written about such things. It's never pretty! So, I nod, I smile and I make a comment or two. I'm not pushing my partner out the door to have an illicit affair . . . unless my writing counts . . . if that's the case, I'm having one heck of an illicit affair right now . . . and it's good, very, very good. I'm just saying . . .

S

It's been a strange . . .

. . . jumble of days, more than a week really, since Jordy journeyed on to that great catnip field in the sky (or wherever the eternal catnip field might lie). Life goes on. I deal with my grief as only I can, and with the support of friends and family. I immerse myself in the day to day routines - work, home, bed, etc. - of my life.

I spent this weekend reading Juliet Marillier's Heir to Sevenwaters. Absolutely loved the book. In fact, all I did on Saturday was sit on different couches in the house and read the book, from beginning to end. I haven't done that with a book in forever. Heir to Sevenwaters is the newest book in what was once called The Sevenwaters Trilogy. I guess since this is book four, the whole trilogy thing just went out the proverbial window. I am currently re-reading Daughter of the Forest the first book in the trilogy that is no longer a trilogy.

I guess the mere fact of immersing myself in a book has gotten my creative juices flowing. I've written for four straight days. I don't know why, I'm not about to question why, and I'm just going to go with the flow. I'm not setting any daily goals with this current writing endeavor. I'm just writing. I take what I can get, when I can get it, and just hope for the best every day. I guess that should be everybody's philosophy toward life, and toward whatever dream they might have.

At some point this week, I need to send out a query on another project. For whatever reason, I haven't been able to find the motivation to do so. Perhaps I have been beaten down by multiple "this just isn't right for me" responses, or no responses at all. Personally, I know agents are inundated with queries, thousands upon thousands of queries; but a simple "this isn't right for me" automated response would sure as heck make the lives of the thousands upon thousands of queriers (yes, I know, not a word, but I'm using it any how) just a little bit simpler. I know, it's not about making the lives of struggling writers simpler. It's just a thought . . . and a dang good one at that, if I do say so myself!!! So, sometime this week, I'll send out another query and wait and wait and wait and wait until the designated time frame specified on the agent's website expires, and then begin the process all over again. SIGH!!!!! In the meantime, I'll write and write and write when the moment takes me, because that's my path in this life and what I love to do. Maybe one day (fingers and toes crossed) in the very near future, all my hard work will end up in publication. A man can hope!

Yesterday . . .

. . . I said good-bye to my cherished cat Jordy. He lived a good life (16 years). Yesterday, was a crappy day all around. I just knew when I got up that something was wrong. Boy, was I right on that count. I made the painful – trust me, I kept Kleenex in business this morning – decision to have him put down. He’s just not been doing well, arthritis was setting in, and he was just having a really hard time of it lately.

Jordy was the best cat ever. Not that his sisters Tasmyn and Squeaky aren’t good cats, they just have an attitude most of the time. Jordy, on the other paw, was just Mr. Laid Back. He accepted life (the addition of Tasmyn to the household, then Spanky and Arthur when Frank and I moved in together, then Squeaky after Arthur passed away, and finally Jesse and James once Spanky had journeyed forth into the great beyond) as just another day.

I went to the pound sixteen years ago looking for the most adorable kitten ever. They had no kittens that day and kept showing me cat after cat. None of them seemed “right”. I’d finally settled on a cute cat, when all of a sudden I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there was Jordy – cute as could be, just looking at me with those big green eyes saying “Uh, excuse me, excuse me, but I’m the best there is!!!” Truer words could not have been spoken. He melted my heart with that simple tap on my shoulder. I took him home that day and despite the neutering two weeks later, oh, and then the declawing incident two weeks after that, he was my little sack of flour that I could carry around like a baby . . . for sixteen great years. Okay, there was the diabetes in 1999 and two shots a day, but he took the shots like a trooper and showed up in the kitchen every night around the same time to take his medicine. I rarely had to hunt him down to give him his shots, though there were twenty or forty such occasions where he made me look for him. He was a cat after all, and had to remind me that I was at his beck and call, and not the other way around.

I went to the vet alone yesterday morning, just Jordy and me, kind of like the beginning of our lives together. Frank offered to go, but we had a contractor due at the house, and I think I just needed some “me” time with Jordy. Frank said his good-byes at the house, giving Jordy a ton of treats and petting him while he ate them. I said my final good-byes at the vet, just Jordy and me!

No one ever tells you when you adopt a pet, that the final day just sucks big time. Trust me, it does. Still, he brought joy to my life for a good long time. I miss him terribly. I’m still keeping Kleenex in business. He was the best!

There are so many good memories of Jordy . . .

• The Closet Incident - okay, there were many times when this sneaky cat of mine snuck into the closet without either Frank or I knowing. We would only learn of his closet presence when he woke up from his nap and began to bang on the door to be let out.


• The Scratching at the Door Incident - Jordy was an indoor cat who just loved to go outside. I would take him out every now and then and sit with him while he prowled around the yard. At one point, after finally adjusting to Spanky and Arthur (the dogs), Frank would take Jordy and the dogs out together. The three of them would run side by side across the driveway to the fenced in backyard. Jordy, at least for a time, was one of the dogs. Well, when Jordy wanted out, he would scratch at the door in the den. No, Jordy, you're not going out - was my normal response. One night, he was scratching at the door, and I made my usual response without even looking. It wasn't until the next morning, when I couldn't find Jordy to give him his shot, that I realized he was not in the house. I went outside, shouted for him, and here he came from the deeps of the wilds of the backyard. He was not a happy camper. Little did I know when I said No, Jordy, you're not going out, that he was scratching from outside wanting to get in. Boy, did Frank get a talking to that morning about not bringing Jordy back in . . . and not for the first time, I might add.


• The OMG What Did You Bring Home Incident - this was when, after only having Jordy a few months, I brought Tasmyn home to join the family. Jordy went up to the carrier, sniffed at Tasmyn, turned his back and walked away. If you think I'm having anything to do with her, you're out of your mind. Jordy stuck to his word. He would have nothing to do with Tasmyn at all. He ignored her. If he was on the bed and she clawed her way up, he got down. If he was in a chair and she leaped over to sleep with him, he got down. He wanted nothing to do with her. Nothing at all. So, months go by and I come home from work early one day. What do I find? Jordy and Tasmyn curled up in a chair together. Jordy looks up in surprise and leaps out of the chair. After I stopped laughing, I told him that his secret was out. From that day forward, they were pretty much inseparable.


• The I'll Protect You Incident - when Frank and I first moved in together we had the pleasant task of introducing the cats to the dogs (Spanky and Arthur). Let me tell you, Tasmyn drew blood from the dogs on many occasions. Finally, a truce was called . . . or so I thought. One night, the dogs are on the sofa with Frank, sleeping soundly, and Tasmyn struts by, reaches out, smacks the hell out of Spanky, and keeps on walking. Well, next day, payback time and Spanky corners Tasmyn. He barks. She hisses. From behind me a hear a low growl. Here comes Jordy, tail puffed up big as can be, eyes, wide, and coming across the room toward Spanky. Nobody, not nobody, messes with my sister, BUD!!! He might have disliked her to begin with, but she somehow wormed his way into his heart, and nobody was going to bother her, not even Spanky.

The memories go on and on, and the tears continue to flow. The picture above is of Jordy in one of his favorite places - on the dining room chairs beneath the table cloth. He always thought no one could find him there. His only problem - he always let his tail dangle out from beneath the table cloth. Still, when in doubt, no cat about, look beneath the tablecloth!!!

Who knew . . .

. . . that ironing could provide inspiration??? Picture it - Sophia Petrillo, standing in front of the ironing board, the steam rising up (cheap facial), and her brow furrowed in thought!! Okay, so it wasn't Sophia Petrillo. It was me. I'm ironing, the steam rising up (cheap facial), and thinking about the fact that I have written very little lately. Suddenly - inspiration, the Orm, the Muses singing loudly and clearly - the ideas begin to gel together into some coherent form. I love it when that happens. Lately, coherence and writing did not seem to go together. Today - perhaps the steam reached deep into my brain and caused the synapses to start synapsing - the coherence slowly began to emerge. Whew!

I just haven't felt the desire in my writing lately. There are brief, transitory, moments of feeling, but nothing that lasts beyond a chapter or two. I want the feeling, the passion, the drive, and the obsession! I want the DESIRE to write - here, there, and everywhere, in a box with a fox, in a house with a mouse, in a train, in the rain, with green eggs and ham, Sam I am (not). I feel lost and bereft on the days (weeks, months . . . or so it seems) when I don't write. Try as I might (and trust me, I've tried . . . again and again, to the moon and back), I have not been able to write, to feel, to experience the driving passion. I get an idea, brilliance in motion, and the brilliance quickly fades like the semi-permanent dye I might one day (soon) use to cover the grey in my hair.

So, I'm ironing, thinking, ironing, thinking, and . . . what if I combine this, with that, and add a little bit of something-something . . . whoa!!!!, is that brilliance beginning to emerge??? How long will it last? Am I, like Maria in the convent, chasing moonbeams on the sand? Will this idea work? Will the DESIRE explode from within and become an obsession? Will I think constantly about the project, dreading the fact that I owe, I owe, so off to work I go??? Will the ideas slowly wane like the full moon until they disappear, so it seems, all together?

I have no clue. I'm grasping at proverbial straws and hoping beyond hope, that this time the idea will stick, the words will flow, and the obsession can begin.