I will sometimes go days in a mental state of deserted desert where I will have no intelligent thoughts going thur my head other than:
insert semi – intelligent babble here
(Yes I’m aware the code is wrong… I’m trying to make a point here…..)
Then there are times when I will write chapters upon chapters of funny, witty, racy and brillant stuff…. the only problem is, is that it’s in my head. I will be driving, in the shower, shopping, doing mommy-stuff, and not be able to just go with the creative juices.
For the longest time I used to carry around a mini tape recorder with me. This worked out amazing. Because I would be stuck in traffic and have this story line go thur my head. (side note: This was during one of my multiple attempts to actually finish one of the many books that I have actually started to write.) When I went back into radio I found myself using it more for comemrcial ideas, voice checks/critiques, and a catch all for kick ass proposal ideas I’d have at 3:00am. (So much easier to just grab the tape recorder out of the purse at that hour then get up and turn on the computer!)
Part of the reason why I started out this blog was as a testing ground for some writing ideas. A writer friend of mine encouraged me to put my skills to a test. To use some of my comedy, insane mental ability, and knack for saying things that most women will only keep to themselves. Some of my favorite authors are women who are on the “Chick-Lit” bandwagon. Those that write the feminist disertations that are chock full of humor and insights from everyday life. Those that write the books that tell it like it really is. None of that suger-coated romance crap. But the way things really happen.
When young girls daydream about one day finding Prince Charming and concieving a child together, it’s a Harlinquin Romance Authors wetdream. The silky and very frilly lingerie, that hugs her supple curves. His dark eyes and sly grin as he becons her to him from across the room. She rushes to his arms where he then carries her up the stairs to their bedroom (where of course her frilly lingerie still remains in-tact) and they make slow, passionate love. All while classical jazz plays softly in the background, and the sun is setting over the ocean.
When in all reality….it’s a bit more like this.
“Honey the stick is blue!”
I bellowed from one end of the house, anxious about the acuracy of the readout. I’d heard of pregnancy tests….but tests that tell you when your most fertile? Bullshit! But neither the less, even as doubtfull as I was, I ran totalloy naked into the kitchen yelling;
“What the hell do you think your doing! We have to have sex like now! Otherwise I’m going to tell the specialist that you are un-coperative in this process. It is esential when attempting to document how often you attempt to concieve that a dick is involved somwhere!”
And of course following the session of sex where you do the thing you always do, he does the thing he always does, the woman ends up pretty much standing on her head in a lame effort to make sure that all the sperm (just in case they are lazy) have a better chance of meeting up with the egg.
Then wouldn’t you know it….after a couple of months of disapointments, and then just saying;
“Fuck it. We’ll look into more advanced proceedures in a few months.”
I ended up pregnant.
(Ooops. Didn’t know it would happen that fast! Turns out Doctors don’t know as much as they think they do!)
But somehow I’m a much better verbal story teller I’ve found out, then a writer. It’s much funnier to SEE the rounte of “How to shave your legs in the sink” as opposed to READING it. That could be partly because the routine calls for me to pretty much put one leg behind my head.
So in otherwords I will conclude, and attempt to get to a point. When I have a brainstorm and lots of whirling thoughts… there will be a lot more here. (Also now that I have a housekeeper again I’m not feeling so guilty about the dust-bunnies.) Cause when someone as ditzy as I am gets an idea… it’s not a smart idea to not go with it.