My mind likes to talk to me as I’m falling asleep. The light has been shut off. I have just found a comfortable way to lay and my mind starts talking. I know it is my subconscious waking up. I try to keep a pen and paper or my phone with the note page option next to my bed. Sometimes I’m just to tired to write it down. My eyes too heavy and my body’s to cozy. I believe I’ll remember all the “great” novel ideas the next morning but I wake the next morning have forgotten most of the ideas or words I tried to memorize. Do you fight sleep and write when inspiration strikes or say to your muse, “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep. Can’t you come back tomorrow when I’m ready to take all that creative energy and record it on the computer?” Curses with the morning light and the muse is no where to be found. Bitch.
I’ve been trying to keep up with a blog schedule but it is proving to be a hard task. I try to post every Tuesday but I didn’t post anything yesterday because I have nothing to write about. For a bit I thought I’d post a creative writing piece but that ended with my brain going quiet at the site of the blinking curser. I was thinking about trying different days even though I know creative flow has nothing to do with a certain days of the week. Lately, I read a lot and was thinking of writing book reviews to fill up some blog space.
How do you keep your topic creative juices flowing? Have you had a blogger’s block? (Like writer’s block but with blogs?)
I was trimming some dead heads off the rose bushes and clipping some roses to bring in the house when I found a nice little surprise. Below is a picture of the nest I found sitting in a rose bush. I took my picture and walked away. I didn’t finish the pruning after this find because I didn’t want to disturb the nest.
Just from that short period of time I looked at the nest. It amazed me. The twigs where long and perfectly stacked. It almost looks like the bush is hugging the nest. I have found light blue eggs with brown specks before but most have been empty, the pervious occupant vacated. I finally learned what type of animal is home to that type of egg. I walked away and watched. Soon two sparrows landed on the lower part of the rose bush and a mockingbird flew out of the near by tree and chased them away.
I’m excited and hope they hatch.
I just finished reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman. It was a story that built up slowly then all of a sudden I was submerged. When it ended I couldn’t remember how to breathe. Then I sighed. The story really was like stepping into an ocean. With each step you get deeper and deeper and then there’s that sharp drop. But you’re not startled or afraid. It feels weird. I liked the strangeness.
Some of my favorite quotes:
“That’s the trouble with living things. Don’t last very long.”
“Nobody actually looks like what they really are on the inside. You don’t. I don’t. People are much more complicated than that. It’s true of everybody.”
“Different people remember things differently, and you’ll not get any two people to remember anything the same, whether they were there or not. You stand two of you lot next to each other, and you could be continents away for all it means anything.”
“You don’t pass or fail and being a person, dear.”
“Books were safer than other people anyway.”
“Grown-ups don’t look like grown-ups on the inside, either. Outside, they’re big and thoughtless and they always know what they’re doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren’t any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.”