The last blog post talked about my writing space and asked about where you create. Last night I realized there are some sneaky places I write, too.
At the grocery store, when I pass you, a stranger, and smile. I might be simply polite and friendly, or a character may have just revealed some plot twist, or said something funny.
At that important meeting, when I am so clearly listening intently and taking copious notes while you sit there bored, wondering just how anal that crazy woman is…those notes are the current work in progress. Scribbled in my handwriting that, fortunately for me, no one can read (sometimes not even me). When I look up and appear to pay attention to the speaker, I’m off deep in story world and most likely not even aware the speaker is…well, speaking. Or even there.
And driving, of course. Especially when music is playing. Part of me is obviously paying attention to the road. But part of me is gone.
I plot by daydreaming the story. Visualizing it almost like a movie I’m watching within my vivid imagination. So when we’re at a dinner gathering together and I’m listening to you, hanging on your every word, I’m actually plotting. Plotting all sorts of things.
Don’t get upset, friends. I do pay attention.
Most of the time.