I hear all these stories about the greatest writers of all time carrying around notebooks, jotting down their brilliant thoughts throughout the day. How at peace they must feel.
Me? My ideas seem to be the most at home sloshing around in my brain with goo and glitter and debris flying around at all times. I’ve tried the tiny notebook method, but never got past writing incredibly dull things like “girl in store” and something that looked like “kerfluffer” with a chocolate stain next to it. And I began to worry. What if all of my ground-breaking, hard-hitting stories were getting lost up in the crevices of my brain?
Turns out when it comes to my creative process, writing down a half-completed idea just seems to ruin it for me. Whenever I return to a scribble, eager to be revitalized with the inspiration I had at the time I wrote it, the magic has long left the page. All I am left with is an incoherent and flat fragment.
I used to think that made me a bad writer or at the very least tragically disorganized, always performing somewhere below my highest capacity. But I kind of like everything swirling around in my head, marinating in my day-to-day experiences. I get to toss a character back and forth, thinking no, she wouldn’t drink coffee, or maybe she would but only in the winter. It’s fluid and free, without the threat of an unforgiving cursor making anything permanent that was still in the development stages. Sure, it would be nice to have a cohesive outline of what I envisioned in my head, but writing isn’t always that pretty.
My best concepts come when it’s allowed to ooze in whatever direction it pleases. But hey, that’s just me. Everyone’s snow globe brain is a little bit different.