Brain Drift

Lordy, it's hot. Of course I live in southern Arizona, so I'm not surprised that it is supposed to reach 112º today. It's a cliche, but horrible as it is, it's a dry heat. What horrifies me is that it reached 107º in my home town of Tulsa yesterday. That will boil you alive. And the poor Brits! But I prattle on when I should be outlining a new book. I have an idea, but until I actually start writing it, it does no good just rattling around in my head.

It's a great idea, too, IMHO. It came to me almost fully blown just as I was waking up. This happens to me a lot. Ideas start to float up from the depths, rather like the cryptic messages in one of those old Eight-balls. They don't seem to have anything to do with anything at first, but then they begin to cohere like a string of DNA. Eventually, if all goes as it has before, some sort of literary creature will take form, stand up, and walk.

And I'm off again.

When I was in college, I was a crammer. I never studied much for tests until a day or two before, then I'd study until my eyes fell out. I'd never recommend this process to anyone, though it seemed to work all right for me. Even at the time, I was aware that in order for cramming to work, I had to have a literal change of consciousness, and become almost hyper-aware. When I look back on it, I think it was just a matter of paying close attention.

When the writing-muscles start to engage again, it feels to me like the same process. I become hyper-aware of what is going on around me, of what other people are saying, of what is in the news, of the weather, but especially of what I'm thinking. Most of the time, my thoughts float around in my head like fluffy little clouds that I pay no attention to, but when I'm in this state, I stare at them until I find interesting shapes.

This is how it often works for me: (I'm not making this up. I sat in a restaurant and wrote my thoughts down as it happened.) I see a little girl cross the room coloring. She's left-handed. I notice she has on red cowboy boots. I start noticing the footwear of the other people in the room. A lot of women have pointy-toed shoes. Carrie on "Sex in the City" wore incredibly expensive, uncomfortable shoes. Manolo Bialiks. Manolo is an interesting name. It corresponds to Manuel. We don't have a corresponding English name. Some Jewish guys are named Manny. My brother-in-law's name was Gary, but everyone in the family called him "Man", because he was such a little man when he was a kid. My husband Don told me that he and Man to throw raw eggs at fence posts when they were kids. That would be a great scene in a book.

And Bob's your uncle.

I would love to hear about other writers' processes. I imagine everyone's mind works the same, but writers just know how to make sense of their seemingly senseless thoughts.