But inspiration is still sitting there right beside me, and it is trying. Inspiration is trying to send me messages in every form it can—through dreams, through portents, through clues, through coincidences, through déjà vu, through kismet, through surprising waves of attraction and reaction, through the chills that run up my arms, through the hair that stands up on the back of my neck, through the pleasure of something new and surprising, through stubborn ideas that keep me awake all night long . . . whatever works. Inspiration is always trying to work with me.
I write ideas…inspirations…on everything. The backs of receipts. The little notes section in my phone. An email while I’m supposed to be listening to someone in a work meeting. I’ve even gone as far as writing 8 or 10 words on my hand or arm because, God help me, they might be the best idea I’d ever had. (They weren’t…but they were good and I enjoyed making them into something!)
Some days as inspiration hits me I think “Oh man. Not today. I’m to0 tired to follow you to something coherent.” And other days it’s all I can do not to shush everyone else in a room so that the thought can take it’s course until there is a sketch of it that I can right down. (I mentally shush people all the time in these cases but only once or twice have I literally shushed a room for this reason.)
More often now, I don’t tell the ideas to stop. I actually try not to leave the house without reminding myself that I want to be open to seeing the world through the lens of a writer, with the eyes of an observer, and with the heart of someone who believes that we all live and move in a spiritual realm all while dwelling on this physical plane.
So come on ideas. I’m here. I’m listening. And like Liz, I’m willing to hear you and see if we are supposed to work together or not.