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.

 

The importance of capturing the moment

by Rick Blechta

Good ideas come in their own time and own way. Regardless of whether you’re an ink-stained wretch like me, I’m sure you’ve all arrived at solutions to problems at the most inopportune moments. And if you’re like me, you’ve often failed to capture and hold on to that fleeting idea. Trying to rejuvenate a lost idea after its passed through your mind is a bit like someone presenting you with a bouquet of faded flowers.

When I was still teaching band in schools, my assignment involved working in several schools, which meant driving, sometimes on busy highways, sometimes on residential streets. My current work-in-progress would often drift into my head during travel time and I sometimes came up with the most marvelous ideas, only to find I couldn’t capture “the moment” when I sat down to write that evening. Believe me, it got exceptionally frustrating in a very short time.

The obvious solution was to carry a journal. When I’d get to my destination, I’d jot down a few notes. Sometimes this worked; most of the time, it didn’t. I remained frustrated as good ideas continued drifting into nothingness.

What I needed was to capture the moment of inspiration — right when it happened. Driving on a 6-lane highway is not the time or place to pull onto the shoulder and begin to write, even if it’s just a few quick notes, so I got a handheld recorder. The first used mini cassettes, but technology changed and I eventually graduated to a digital one.

Voila! Problem solved.

But the writing gods were still not smiling. One wintry day, I was paying too much attention to my muse and not enough to the road. At the very last second, I spotted a car stopped in the middle of the road. I eased on the brakes, started to skid, and watched helplessly as my car continued towards its date with destiny. Fortuitously, I stopped without hitting it, but when both of us got out to look, I was literally only an inch from the guy’s back bumper. He still reamed me out for being careless. I shot back that he didn’t put his hazard lights on. Still it was hard to get too angry. I knew I’d been damned lucky.

Back to the drawing board.

Shortly after, I happened to run into an actor/friend and he said that in order to memorize a role more quickly, he found it was advantageous to speak it out loud.

“It doesn’t work as well if you say it in your head. You need to get your mouth involved. For some reason, it drives things into your memory better.”

Hmmm...

The next day, I was struck with an interesting angle for the new chapter I’d be working on that evening. I was on the highway. My trusty recorder was sitting on the passenger seat. Should I risk life and limb to get down my idea? My friend’s comment percolated into my head.

So I drove along talking the idea over with myself, loudly. I went on at great length and listened with riveted attention. And you know what? It stuck. I was traveling over lunch hour and had a few minutes to jot down the ideas before afternoon classes began.

I’ve used the system ever since and it’s never let me down. Well, actually, that’s not true. One time I wasn’t paying attention to my speed while declaiming in my car. I got pulled over and the interruption caused me to not only lose the feel of my idea, but every iota of what it was in the first place.

C’est la vie.