“What can you see,
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?”
My brain is going in about 30 different directions (and while that’s only six more distractions than the average, it’s still making it harder for me to settle down).
If you’d sit in front of me on an airplane, you’d find I bounce my legs a lot. It’s not due to nervousness; sorry, though, for spilling your drink. I’m not quite sure whether it’s a mile case of “restless leg syndrome” or what (I don’t necessarily do it when I’m bored and I’ve fallen asleep and found my leg to be tapping). It’s common and easily repressed if I concentrate on it and/or wear heavier shoes.
However, I’m suffering from something different. It’s not my legs that are twitching right now, but my fingers. They’re wiggling, fluttering, trying to get all the words out.
I’m not always so lucky to be near a keyboard or notebook when this happens. Too often I feel like composing while I’m caught in transit. I’ve lost many semi-polished ideas because they weren’t committed to paper before I reached my destination. If I have the opportunity, many times I’ll whip out a pen and quickly jot down the outlines of a thought on spare piece of paper or arm and hope I can translate my jerky scribblings later.
I have over a dozen different topics I’ve worked on over the last 24 hours (no hyperbole – I found 11 recently accessed word files on the computer desktop and I can think of at least two separate ideas I worked on exclusively I my notebook). I presently have more ideas than I have time to properly record and explore and am fretful they will be rendered obsolete by the time they are polished and presentable.
It is the opposite of writer’s block, though it can sometimes have the same hindering effect. This is where my short attention span gets control of the remote and starts channel surfing.
Here’s a brief peak between the synapses:
War is hell. – Nope, (well, yes it is, but you see) I wrote that already.
What about the Hollywood post you promised? – Not yet. It’s taking a turn in a different direction than I first imagined and I haven’t properly explored this new idea (Note to self: read more C.S. Lewis)
Remember that old, unused draft idea you found today? – I don’t have enough non sequiturs for it to be even half finished.
Want to do an online quiz and post the results? – I haven’t found one bizarre enough to merit sharing (I did do one, but I didn’t like the results, so like most people I’m not going to mention it).
Want to develop one of the in-the-news ideas you set aside for possible use? –The bookmarked Iran story is getting too dated (and besides, I was primarily doing it because I wanted to make a Flock of Seagulls joke in the title that most people would simply miss (Iran: So Far Way) Please… It’s not even that funny.
Thinking about the nearly completed poetry post? – I’d prefer to save that for the weekend when the lighter tone would be more appropriate.
What about the post you were concentrating on during commercial breaks this evening? – It too has taken a twist and while I didn’t want to do any more research into the project (in this case, finding books by authors with whom I will largely disagree) I’m not sure if I’ve found the balance I will need. Though I may have something… let me work on it one more day…
Why don’t you do a bullet point post like your sister? – When left to my own devices, I prefer to tell the 10-minute version rather than the 150-word run-down. Sorry.
Why don’t you keep concentrating on creative composition? – Er… Hm… Might work (though if it doesn’t, don’t blame me).
I need something to concentrate my efforts. I don’t know if it is waiting to be discovered in one of my varied side-projects.
In addition to posting and job searching – my primary daily concerns I have a number of other items always waiting in the wings; some recent, some dating back over a decade.
There are the various short stories and novels in different stages of composition (ranging from “mental notion” to “random, non-sequential chapters written.”)
I have my often-paused push to pick up more foreign vocabulary (presently focusing on Yiddish slang and insults [my current favorite is “A kleyn kind zol nokh im heysn,” meaning “A young child should be named after him.”]).
I have more books than I’ll ever be able to read (though that’s a welcome challenge).
And potentially most importantly, I still haven’t finished the time machine. I feel compelled to finish it because, A) it would be a great boon to historians, and B) I already have a long waiting list of people I’ve promised to lend it to.
If you’re having a bad day that you’d like to do over, I can put your name down, but I must warn you, it’s rather lengthy and there is the slight possibility that one of the earlier borrowers will render all time and space void prior to you getting your turn. And even if reality isn’t completely negated, there is the chance that some idiot might crash the thing or have it pinched by some pesky Morlocks.
And don’t forget I’m the one planning on using the time machine first. That may shut you down before you get started. I might not get through the first 10 items of my list before me and my contraption get burned at the stake, or something. I’ve always wanted to heckle Napoleon on his short statue and have long wished to accost Alexander Graham Bell in a dark alley and tell him what I think of him creating that infernal machine. And people who know me and my ambling legs know that I’m the type of person who will step on a Jurassic butterfly and mess things up for the rest of humanity. Of course, haven’t we all thought we could use some more dinosaurs running around?
Sigh…
(People don’t always believe me when I tell them my subconscious is psychotic, but if you spend enough time contemplating temporal physics, you might start to get the idea.)
Anyway, it all leads me to one conclusion: I need a better muse.
The muse I’ve followed the most is the girl who, at the start of the song “1999,” sang, “I was dreamin' when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray.”
When you’re following a lead like that, you’re going to find yourself on the indirect scenic route (where the view is pretty, but miles off the regular path).
So I need to be looking for a new muse. The only thing is, I don’t know where to start.
How does one book a muse in this modern day? Are they readily available? Are more running around or do we need to share the same nine that the Greeks had? Is Calliope free, or must I settle for Melpomene (and is Erato always sarcastic)?
Is there a more modern approach? Can I hold a casting call or use a phone book? What’s the going rate - is there money involved, or is the muse simply happy to be there? Do lawyers get involved somewhere despite the fact they obviously crimp creativity? Is there a release form? Do I really need to share my social security number?
Maybe I was better off sticking with the Prince’s princess.
Why do the white gulls call?
I can tell you:
Everybody's got a bomb, we could all die any day.
But before I'll let that happen, I'll dance my life away...
Play me out Dr. Fink (the famous medically-clad keyboardist)!
Two thousand zero zero –
Party over, oops, out of time.
So tonight we gonna, we gonna party like it's 1999.
Don’t you wanna go?
