Recently there was a meme or maybe just a creativity generator going around blogland entitled Where I Blog. Women showed photos of plump chairs, the cushion well-worn into the shape of a blogger’s bottom, kitchen tables, modest desks, and if fortune abounds, an office – a bona-fide space for writing, for creativity, for moments of soul spilling.
I write in my head.
Oh sometimes, I’ll grab my laptop at the end of the day and type words, lists barely scraping the surface of my thoughts. It’s most often all I can manage amid the rush of motherhood, of life, but the real writing goes on in my head. Those five minutes when I’m standing under the spray of warm water, conditioner working to calm the tangles of snakes in my hair, that’s when I write.
Sometimes I write when I’m walking to the park with my kids. My head nods in unison with the sentences tripping over each other in my mind, but the kids mistake the nods for encouragement. They continue their endless chatter. During the extremely rare occasion of mental activity after bedtime, I’ll write in the moments before my words meet the fictional characters of my subconscious, blending with dreams until I lose control of my story.
This writing I do never actually lives long enough to make it to paper or my keyboard. I try, but it’s usually just words scratched between boxes of spilled cereal, fifth grade homework, and my husband’s crusade style meetings. Those hurried words aren’t really writing.
For now, I write in my head.
What about you?