I have writer's block, that bane of every literary creator's existence. There was something interesting about to happen to my character, but now I can't quite remember what it was. The idea is just on the edge of my memory, hiding around the corner sticking it's tongue out at me like a child playing an annoying game of peek-a-boo. Oh well. Perhaps if I think about something else for a few minutes, it will grow tired of this little game and come back to me. I let out a long sigh and lean my short body into as long a stretch as I can muster. Still nothing. Thirty minutes ago, before my children went to bed, it was so loud in here I couldn't hear myself think, as the expression goes. Now, on the other hand, it is quiet. Blissfuly quiet. Quiet. Peaceful. Without noise. Noiseless. Okay, so it's almost too quiet. Because now I can hear the drippy sink faucet. Drip. Drop. Drop. Drip. (Our sink is quirky that way.) And now that I can hear the drippy, droppy sink, I suddenly realize simultaneously that I'm thirsty.....and I need to pee. Odd how that happens.
Business has been taken care of and my tall, blue sippy-cup-for-adults at my elbow is filled with Grape Crystal Light. I stare at my computer screen, still waiting for the peek-a-boo game in my head to end. Tossing a glance around the room, I heave another long sigh--especially when my eyes fall on the extremely dusty shelf next to the table. As dust is not good for the sinuses, I get up in search of a rag and the generic lemon Pledge underneath the kitchen sink. But once the shelf is dusted, I can't help but notice how jumbled the books on it are. How in the world will anyone be able to locate favorite books in a second with them in this state? No, something must be done. Now. If dust kills the sinuses, clutter certainly kills creativity. I spend the next thirty minutes alphabetizing every single book on all three of my shelves.....by genre. Since purchasing my Kindle and weeding out some of the extra copies of books I've purchased in ebook form, this does not take as long as it otherwise would have.
Back in my chair, I realize that I can't concentrate with all the deafening quiet. Music! That's the ticket. Music always stirs the imagination. I slip on the giant headphones---because one of my ears is significantly smaller than the other one (and pointed, kind of like an Elf's ear. With one pointy ear, my curly brown hair, and my short stature, it's a shame we don't live in New Zealand. I would've made an excellent Hobbit in profile), those ear buds have a tendancy to just pop right back out again--and go right to the playlist of all my favorite 80's and 90's songs. Here is something to inspire the memory to cease and desist that obnoxious game and get ready for some serious work. And then I realize that it's a blessing I don't have many CDs anymore. Seeing them in a jumble would've certainly required another thirty or so minutes of organizing before I could get to work. Small favors and all that.
Aha! The music has tamed savage beast once again and the great idea has returned! Frantically, feverishly, and fervently, my fingers pound the keys as this great plot twist comes to life on the screen in front of me. It's magnificent! It's stupendous! I'm a genious! And then without warning, it strikes....
I have writer's block, that bane of every literary creator's existence. Again.