by Mary Brady
(Or does your idea lose it's flavor on the bedpost overnight?)
After the blog about which bedroom you would chose, a friend of mine asked me that question. My quick answer was "desperation." At five p.m. of blog eve, my phone's calendar alarms to prod me in case I haven't written the blog material (translation--gave even one thought to writing the blog).
The longer answer: It is now Tuesday, the morning after the bed blog and gasp I am actually thinking about the next one already. At 5 pm on (Sheesh! Where's my phone--it's supposed to be in my pocket--I'll be back in a moment.) July 15th I'll be looking at this bit of prose and have to judge: wit? or holy crabcakes what were you thinking?
So with the toes of my socks wet and cold from setting up the sprinkler to ward off the effects of three weeks without rain and after planting a few more green beans in the "I plant 'em, they eat 'em game" I play with bunnies and beetles, I start to sit down at my computer with my newly constructed breakfast and a cup of hot coffee and realize I'm cold all over. (Yes, run on, but that's how it works inside my head.) Two days ago it was 90 degrees and today it's 60. I know, I'm a cry baby, but I'm cold. I grab my garden shirt (the closest theoretically warm thing) but it's dampish and the sleeves are wet from playing garden gnome.
But I'm going to write chapter two now so I put the stained old men's extra large white shirt on anyway.
As I don the shirt, I hear this tiny little rattling noise--it sort of sounded like the scuttling of insects in a horror movie. I'm not frightened as I'm not that bad of a housekeeper. No, not bugs, it's the seeds from the Burpee Pickling Cucumber Seeds packet that have escaped into my pocket and jostling them as I put the shirt on makes the sound of chitinous dorsi bumping in a mob.
Warmer now. So it's time to get to work.
Hmmm. Commercial garden seeds in my pocket. Hmmm. Commercial anti-fungal and pesticide coatings on most commercial garden seeds. Hmmm. (Sorry, I was lazy and these were convenient that day in April when I did the first planting and organic ones were not.)
The breakfast I had brought into my office is scrambled eggs with mushrooms, onions, and avocado in them and I did mention the coffee was hot. Yum! Hmmm. If I rescue the seeds from the damp shirt pocket, anti-fungals and pesticides will get on my hands. Compromise--dig out the seeds and wash your hands. Hmmm. The eggs will get cold. Just how fast can I dig cucumber seed--probably now ruined from being exposed to the damp for so long--out of my pocket and get them back into their envelop and stored in the container in the garage, wash my hands and sit back down at my desk and to my eggs?
Fasts enough, the eggs are neither cold nor hot, and gone in less time than they should have been. But my coffee is cold, sacrificed in lieu of the warm eggs and the cucumber seeds that will languish until next April when I have to decide to plant what I have on that nice warm day or dash out for more.
Now for a few pages of fiction.
Doh! You caught me. I left my desk again to pour over a new cup of coffee. But you also caught me when an idea was meshing from gobbledygook to some kind of form.
Sheesh my toes are still freezing. Gotta get dry socks. (Back in a moment.)
Now I'll write. Wow!!
Was that something shiny over there???
I guess the long answer as to how I come up with the ideas is truly a short one. I just listen to the voices in my head--they yammer all the time, and if not, they holler--and then I let my fingers make some sense of the ideas.
Does your head talk from the inside out? Do you listen?
To one commenter, I'll give one of my books or a--no your wrong, not a TossOn™ bracelet set. I'll give a just picked--on 6-12 see one of the things I was doing on blog day--and dried by now, a small organic, lavender swag.
As always, thanks and keep smiling.
PS BTW the second planting of cucumber seeds are currently plants 12-19 inches long.