If I had a penny every time I asked myself that question, I would go buy myself a new Montblanc Starwalker fountain pen with the transparent cap top (http://www.montblanc.com/products/cool_blue_cool_blue.09976.php). I am finding that the more I write, the more reflective I am getting, removed from the world I should be getting my inspiration from, interacting with, reporting on. What a lonely profession, writing. You and your writing elixir, a black aromatic liquid, quickly losing heat while you type. You find that you end up drinking a lot of cold coffee in the process. Writing is one thing you cannot separate yourself from once you start the act of putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, it is like a catholic marriage. Bonding for life, come hell or high water, forever joined, till death do us part. Oh boy, I am in one of those moods this morning, a resigned and angry sort of mood. Maya Angelou says that while bitterness festers and hurts, anger burns everything clean. I am as clean as can be today, all angry.
I am in a state known to womankind and their hapless partners in life as PMS. You all know it, men mark it on their calendars to try and coincide it with business trips, conferences, anything that will get them out of the immediate vicinity of the woman suffering from it. Yes, suffering. We do not seem like we are suffering, inflicting pain and acting all bitchy, but we really are. We hate to hurt the people we care about, even if they are men. PMS in my Lexicon stands for Pretty Mad Silliness. We act silly in a mad way. Anything can make us react, in a not too sane way, and we get too whimperishly emotional, and we need our fix of chocolates. Men in our lives should ask us about our chocolate preferences, then these men should go to the specialty chocolate store we love (Auer or Rohr) and get us our favorite stash, hide it in the house and whip it out when we make a drama episode about the car keys not being in their usual place, or a message not answered, or why the weather is grey (shooting accusing looks at our men). Bring out those chocolate almonds and you avert a major crisis.
So, back to writing after giving you the preceding valuable biological, behavioral information.
What I find is the most inspiring for me when I want to write is to read something inspiring, or to talk to someone whose words get me thinking, dreaming, creating. I’ll tell you another writing secret. I go for a drive for inspiration. I know it is not great for climate change, but I do try to combine it with drives I have to take to get my little one from school, or doing the grocery shopping (which I hate doing with a vengeance), or going out to dinner, whenever I need go somewhere by car, I put the music on, and get inspired while behind the wheel. You can see me, that woman with glazed eyes driving around Geneva, narrowly avoiding incoming traffic because all of these thoughts that come crashing through the windshield and into her head-my head. I can literally feel the whoosh of thoughts clamoring for entry into my mind, I soak it all in, and then I forget to write the beautiful images down. Every single time. I forget. I have my voice recording app on my iPhone, but I think it is stupid to talk into an iPhone and listen to yourself later. I don’t like the sound of my voice in any case. It is quite a dilemma as you can clearly see. I’m still looking for a trap for all those creative thoughts and ideas.
So, writing. I can’t stop doing it, even if it means being alone for hours, thinking, re-thinking, analyzing, turning things around in my head. When I am out in the world in general, I am often listening intently to interesting people I know or new people I meet, capturing pieces of their wonderfully witty words, intending to use them in a novel I am writing, and then forgetting to write them down. Every. Time.
What am I trying to say here? Well, since I totally messed this blog post up with my hormone-induced rantings generated by a chocolate-deprived brain, I think I will finish it that way. Too late to recover now, and it is time to post my blog anyway. I have been procrastinating since yesterday night, and now I have to finish this post for the sake of consistency and “constance” as my Swiss/Italian/French friend says.
I hope you will not judge my writing based on this blog post. I feel I am on the edge though, almost diving tied to that bungee elastic, I see the guy pushing me, and the free fall is about to commence, so I can’t delete it even if I wanted to. And besides, since writers are supposed to reveal every single side of their personality and character and inner self, I think it is about time to engage in that. Well, here it is.
Enjoy the show, laugh all you want.
I need those chocolate almonds. Now Now Now.