I’m always getting sidetracked by random thoughts. And if you’ve ever had a conversation with me, you know the randomness is not limited to pondering to myself, but also comes through when I talk out loud. The best way I can think to describe it is like the scan function of a radio. I may begin at one station then take you through a few more before I finally come back to where I started. There’s just a lot of thinking to keep track of here. Since I’m not elephant-like in memory or in any way whatsoever, I try to have notebooks, sticky notes or even my phone handy to capture my musings. It often takes me a while to revisit what, to me, are the beginnings of stories I feel an intrinsic desire to tell. It’s almost as if my fingers are resentful of being used on a daily basis for so many other less impassioned purposes. But when it’s time to sit down and add more substance to my scratch paper scribbles and the half-thoughts saved on my MemoPad app, all is forgiven and my pent-up urge to pour myself onto pages rushes to the keyboard with such energy that from another room you might think there’s a hail storm happening.
Today’s random thoughts have been brought to you by my appreciation for the below passage written by Sylvia Plath. It inspired me to think about why I write and there’s no better way to describe it than the way she did more than six decades ago.
[photo credit: http://mailordermind.tumblr.com/]
