Gone Writing: So That’s Where My Brain Went
I went into the kitchen one morning recently and realized that I had put the soy milk carton on top of the fridge, instead of in it, the day before. I remember making a green smoothie in the last few minutes of my lunch hour, but after that, everything is a blur of work and words. My brain has left the building. Gone writing.
It feels like I am always running, and my brain is sprinting along with me. Running in real sense (feet on pavement: go). Running in the errands sense (euphemism: walk to grocery store to daydream about fairies and the messes they’ll get into in my novel).
Now that I’ve gotten a cathartic shove from a no-bullshit life coach, I’ve been working hard on my novel idea, making a big longhand mess and trying to let it flow, in the sense that I am not editing as I go. Just writing. Gone writing.
While I’m on the clock as an editor for the Paycheck Overlord (love you; mean it), I need to keep about 3,000 rules in mind (rough estimate), and my brain revs up and down all day long. I was explaining to one of my writer friends that I’ve been grooving on the longhand writing because words on a screen seem to put my thought patterns into analysis mode, which is the mode I’m in for eight hours a day.
Never mind that I’m typing the draft of this post instead of writing it longhand. Ahem.
My brain has been switching from analysis to novel daydreams constantly, and sometimes it jumps, too far, not far enough. Writing with pen and paper slows me down, in a good way.
Leaving the soy milk on top of the fridge probably doesn’t sound like a big deal, but when I realized what I did, I had to stop and think (instead of trail off and daydream). Will I be the absent-minded writer until this draft is done?
It sounds cliché, but I am living two lives, or more than two lives. In every situation that comes my way, all of my emotions and reactions give me another opportunity to ask: how would my characters feel about this?
Which is how writers write—here in the land of what if?