As a writer there are always thoughts and snippets of stories running through my head. Often I listen to the voices of characters work things out in my mind. Other times a great line will come to me and I know it will be the perfect springboard to an award winning short story, or the closing line for my next novel.
The biggest problem is these thoughts and inspirations don't always come when I am sitting at the keyboard ready to type. More often than not they come when I am elbow deep in dishwater. Sometimes they come when my hands are covered with dirt as I pull weeds in the garden. And they come quite regularly when all the lights are off and I am just getting ready to close my eyes for a much needed sleep.
That is why there are notebooks all over my house. There are several in my purse and one in each of the tote bags I take wherever I go. All it takes is a few key words or a quick paragraph, and it is enough to jog my memory later. Sometimes I have to get it down so fast, my handwriting is barely legible - especially at 1:00 a.m. - but the act of writing the thought down seems to be enough. Most of the time.
Two nights ago I was just getting settled. Everyone else in the house slept soundly, but I couldn't relax enough to get myself sleep. I had finished writing for the night and turned off the computer. But my brain wasn't so easy to turn off. My thoughts were full of ideas for the next days writing session. I finally got out of bed and went into the other room to write them down. I scribbled three or four ideas into a notebook. Once this was done, my mind settled and I was able to go to sleep.
This is good, right? I haven't worried too much about those late night thoughts because I knew they were sitting in a notebook in the office. I might have trouble deciphering them, but they were there. That is why today, I am turning my house upside down trying to find that very notebook. I can't remember if I used it for something else and moved it, or if I only imagined getting up to write them down. (Sometimes those dreams can be so realistic.) I think what probably happened is another set of hands found the notebook and borrowed it for something else. I guess I need to gather the usual suspects and follow the clues that will lead me to scribblings that just might win a Whitney Award.