Okay, so we’re writers, a lot of us – We get up every day and live in our heads, we miss half the conversations around us because we drifted back into our current plot, we take on low paying jobs and accept an outwardly mundane existence because we won’t notice anyway and it allows us to daydream.
Does that sound familiar?
When I was a child before personal computers came along, the best gift anyone could give me was blank paper. I would get hugely exciting by a big fat notebook and a pen. People thought I was strange but, hey, I was easy to please.
I try to have a pen and notepad with me at all times, but that doesn’t always work out, so those perfect words forming in my head so inconveniently get repeated over and over in a bid to hang onto them. I use a mental blackboard and write the words down, reinforcing each letter with different color mental chalk. That works for me quite well. White, yellow, blue, pink.
That means, of course, I don’t see the traffic on the road when I’m crossing the street, or I hook up with someone in front of me and tag along, thinking it’s Greg when it’s not. I get lost in town because I turned a corner and I don’t know which way I turned the corner. Greg’s used to finding that I’ve gone missing when we’re out in town and is now in the habit of stopping and checking on me regularly – I tend to lag behind.