Never Leave Home Without One
Dec. 18th, 2006 11:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katiefooleryI’ve been suspecting that my love of writing has returned with a vengeance of late. There’s the way my head is just stuffed full of ideas. And the way my muse won’t actually let me sleep unless I swear at her. And let’s not forget the way I'm actually writing stuff instead of just day-dreaming about it and hoping it’ll write itself.
But as far as I’m concerned, the one true mark of being a writer is that I always have a note-book with me and that being without one can cause a panic.
Which is what happened on Saturday afternoon. We were at a friend’s place, so I’d switched from my normal bag to a less conspicuous one (what? I’m addicted to bags. I can’t help it.). In doing so, I’d completely forgotten to transfer my notebook so it was happily sitting in my old bag at home while I was less happily sitting on the couch at our friend’s place, desperate to write something down. And I mean desperate.
If I couldn’t write it, I was going to explode.
I had to write it. And I didn’t have a scrap of paper or a writing implement to my name. Of course, the story didn’t really care about the realities of the situation and it settled for poking me... and poking me... and poking me... until I had to do something about the whole situation. Much to the consternation of the people around me, I jumped up out of my seat and grabbed the car keys. Luckily, the nature of my Timothy’s job means that the car is pretty much always filled with paper. So that need was quickly addressed. And when I got back inside, I saw a red pen sitting on the table so I grabbed it. Of course, it almost didn’t work, but I forced into compliance.
Then I sat down and wrote.
I felt so much better. My imagination even took pity on me and provided another story idea, which I obediently jotted down on the other side of the paper.
It’s been a very long time since I've needed to write something as badly as that. I feel like a real writer again.
Oh, and I’ll never leave home without my notebook ever again.
But as far as I’m concerned, the one true mark of being a writer is that I always have a note-book with me and that being without one can cause a panic.
Which is what happened on Saturday afternoon. We were at a friend’s place, so I’d switched from my normal bag to a less conspicuous one (what? I’m addicted to bags. I can’t help it.). In doing so, I’d completely forgotten to transfer my notebook so it was happily sitting in my old bag at home while I was less happily sitting on the couch at our friend’s place, desperate to write something down. And I mean desperate.
If I couldn’t write it, I was going to explode.
I had to write it. And I didn’t have a scrap of paper or a writing implement to my name. Of course, the story didn’t really care about the realities of the situation and it settled for poking me... and poking me... and poking me... until I had to do something about the whole situation. Much to the consternation of the people around me, I jumped up out of my seat and grabbed the car keys. Luckily, the nature of my Timothy’s job means that the car is pretty much always filled with paper. So that need was quickly addressed. And when I got back inside, I saw a red pen sitting on the table so I grabbed it. Of course, it almost didn’t work, but I forced into compliance.
Then I sat down and wrote.
I felt so much better. My imagination even took pity on me and provided another story idea, which I obediently jotted down on the other side of the paper.
It’s been a very long time since I've needed to write something as badly as that. I feel like a real writer again.
Oh, and I’ll never leave home without my notebook ever again.
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on 2006-12-18 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-12-18 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-12-18 08:26 pm (UTC)