Fleeting Ideas
I've been a walking blog-head lately. I just have not taken the time to sit down and get it on paper. And yes, by the time one sits down to write, the blogs have all flown back to where they wait and hide, until you are driving through the Texas Hill Country and they creep into the creative forefront of your brain. Well, the drive is so curvy and there are always 15 people behind me..wanting desperately for me to move over so they can whiz by, that I cannot possibly pull over for fear of driving off the ridge. So I keep to the speed limit and endure the evil looks, until I have a proper place to pull the sexy green late model Honda CRV into a safe stall. The impatient drivers usually consist of one Ford F-150 with a dude wearing a baseball hat. One high school girl talking on her phone. One middle aged couple in their new Suburu. One rancher in his old Chevy truck, with a hay bale in the back. One angry rich guy in a new fast and fancy car. One tech guy in a paid off foreign car. And usually there's a surprise..like the grandma in the 2014 Lincoln. She did not like driving the speed limit. She was ready to get to where she was getting and she let me know it.
So while I pull over to let the parade by, I cannot find a pen to write down my ideas. So I think I will talk them into my phone. What comes out when I am talking into my phone is not nearly as interesting or even as funny as I think it is when I am writing or typing. Sometimes I think I am kind of clever when I sit down to write. Not so much with recording my thoughts, out loud. Listening back, I sound more like the NPR newscaster on Saturday Night Live. You know..the one's who did that "schwetty balls" skit? Then I get frustrated and just want to quit, because it's a stupid idea and my boss would hate it and I would be fired. Then I remember I do this for fun. And then I am ok. But still looking for a pen. Songwriting is like that too. You are given a sweet gift in the middle of a dream. You roll over and try to write down the next big hit for Celine Dion ( random, I know, but she sells a lot of records all over Universe) ( they love her in Nepal). You are also given the name of the person who will take your rough draft that you recorded on your I pad and play it for her in two days because Celine is her famous Canadian cousin. You try to find a pen without your contacts in. Or a crayon. Or a lipstick. Anything that writes. You find that Halls rapper you were too tired to throw in the trash. You write down the secret that God and all the angels in heaven whispered to you. You return to a deep slumber with a smile on your face. You know that you will be wealthy and famous. You know your song will be bigger than "Frozen". You know you will make a better speech than that odd couple who actually won for writing "Frozen" did at The Grammy Awards. You plan your outfit for the red carpet and rehearse your speech. You have enough money now to hire a trainer, get Botox and buy a different car for the valets to park. You can taste the martinis at your celebration. Dreams are finally coming true and you are at the head of the line. You start to write your overnight success story in your head. You start with "I waited tables for 18 years." People are riveted. They need to read this book. They need to read it like every woman read Eat, Pray, Love and like their mothers read The Bridges of Madison County. You sell millions. You are not only a Grammy winner, but now you are a successful author. And the movie deals! Don't forget the appearances on Kathy and Hoda, Good Morning America and Conan. Then they want to put your song, your dream song, in the movie about your own dang life!! It all comes full circle. Until you wake up and see that your brilliant song idea looks like this:
Hishgeolsjtelsk$$lajgjidhgslkdffsHGskfslf**gehsgils.
Would you like cheese on your potato, sir?
Where was I? Oh yea..blog ideas. Everything is writable. Seriously. I was in the bookstore today and people will write/read anything. I picked up a book on Texas Wild Flowers. Little did I know: it was Texas Wildflower (big writing) technical terms (tiny writing). I was mislead by the beautiful cover. It made me seek it out amongst all the other garden books and made me take it out of it's comfortable spot on the 3rd shelf. Well, I wanted to see the pretty flowers. I did not want to read the pretty flowers. There was nary a photo of a Mexican Hat nor an Indian Blanket. Only long Latiny words and apostrophes. Another book in the "craft" section was called Hot Pad Crazy. On the other side of the bookstore there was a book called Dress Lady Gaga. Or maybe that was in the craft section. But someone woke up one night and wrote down that inspiration. (they probably had a pen on their night stand) And TA-DA! Now it's in Half-Price Books in Cedar Park. Amazing. Needless to say I did not purchase any of the above. But someone believed in the writers. Someone believes that there is a waiting list for their book club. Someone really likes hot pads.
So we write. The great catharsis of pen to paper, fingers to keys. We wrangle the ideas that do not get away. We hopefully find words that describe the few moments of clarity one wishes to share with friends. We live with great hope that someone will relate to what our brains cannot hold any longer. Then we toss it out in the world. Wandering around until hopefully someone literally clicks "like." Maybe then we feel a bit more connected…perhaps even validated. Then we are free to allow that space to be filled. Maybe I'll find that song again tonight or the next best seller in the craft section at the book store. Or maybe it will sneak on over to your dreams.
Monday, April 21 11:24 pm Day after Easter, 2014
So while I pull over to let the parade by, I cannot find a pen to write down my ideas. So I think I will talk them into my phone. What comes out when I am talking into my phone is not nearly as interesting or even as funny as I think it is when I am writing or typing. Sometimes I think I am kind of clever when I sit down to write. Not so much with recording my thoughts, out loud. Listening back, I sound more like the NPR newscaster on Saturday Night Live. You know..the one's who did that "schwetty balls" skit? Then I get frustrated and just want to quit, because it's a stupid idea and my boss would hate it and I would be fired. Then I remember I do this for fun. And then I am ok. But still looking for a pen. Songwriting is like that too. You are given a sweet gift in the middle of a dream. You roll over and try to write down the next big hit for Celine Dion ( random, I know, but she sells a lot of records all over Universe) ( they love her in Nepal). You are also given the name of the person who will take your rough draft that you recorded on your I pad and play it for her in two days because Celine is her famous Canadian cousin. You try to find a pen without your contacts in. Or a crayon. Or a lipstick. Anything that writes. You find that Halls rapper you were too tired to throw in the trash. You write down the secret that God and all the angels in heaven whispered to you. You return to a deep slumber with a smile on your face. You know that you will be wealthy and famous. You know your song will be bigger than "Frozen". You know you will make a better speech than that odd couple who actually won for writing "Frozen" did at The Grammy Awards. You plan your outfit for the red carpet and rehearse your speech. You have enough money now to hire a trainer, get Botox and buy a different car for the valets to park. You can taste the martinis at your celebration. Dreams are finally coming true and you are at the head of the line. You start to write your overnight success story in your head. You start with "I waited tables for 18 years." People are riveted. They need to read this book. They need to read it like every woman read Eat, Pray, Love and like their mothers read The Bridges of Madison County. You sell millions. You are not only a Grammy winner, but now you are a successful author. And the movie deals! Don't forget the appearances on Kathy and Hoda, Good Morning America and Conan. Then they want to put your song, your dream song, in the movie about your own dang life!! It all comes full circle. Until you wake up and see that your brilliant song idea looks like this:
Hishgeolsjtelsk$$lajgjidhgslkdffsHGskfslf**gehsgils.
Would you like cheese on your potato, sir?
Where was I? Oh yea..blog ideas. Everything is writable. Seriously. I was in the bookstore today and people will write/read anything. I picked up a book on Texas Wild Flowers. Little did I know: it was Texas Wildflower (big writing) technical terms (tiny writing). I was mislead by the beautiful cover. It made me seek it out amongst all the other garden books and made me take it out of it's comfortable spot on the 3rd shelf. Well, I wanted to see the pretty flowers. I did not want to read the pretty flowers. There was nary a photo of a Mexican Hat nor an Indian Blanket. Only long Latiny words and apostrophes. Another book in the "craft" section was called Hot Pad Crazy. On the other side of the bookstore there was a book called Dress Lady Gaga. Or maybe that was in the craft section. But someone woke up one night and wrote down that inspiration. (they probably had a pen on their night stand) And TA-DA! Now it's in Half-Price Books in Cedar Park. Amazing. Needless to say I did not purchase any of the above. But someone believed in the writers. Someone believes that there is a waiting list for their book club. Someone really likes hot pads.
So we write. The great catharsis of pen to paper, fingers to keys. We wrangle the ideas that do not get away. We hopefully find words that describe the few moments of clarity one wishes to share with friends. We live with great hope that someone will relate to what our brains cannot hold any longer. Then we toss it out in the world. Wandering around until hopefully someone literally clicks "like." Maybe then we feel a bit more connected…perhaps even validated. Then we are free to allow that space to be filled. Maybe I'll find that song again tonight or the next best seller in the craft section at the book store. Or maybe it will sneak on over to your dreams.
Monday, April 21 11:24 pm Day after Easter, 2014
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