Where one’s brain goes

People have this image of people writing and writing and writing, with all the focus and focus and focus in the world.

There are times that happens, times when my 70-words-a-minute fingers cannot keep up with my brain. But those flourishes are rare … no, wonderfully rare.  As much as I love ripping through a scene, I also appreciate the methodical moments of plodding through my thoughts one sentence at a time.

But whether I’m soaring or boring, one this is consistent: The crazy, odd and poignant things that run through my head while writing sometimes catch me off guard, and I pause to give my brain a dirty look.

While writing my last manuscript, I stopped and typed these random thoughts into a separate document.

Here, with no editing, is a sampling of the things rolling through my brain while writing, whether related to the story or not. Many are goofy, a lot are not:

“So, should she think the toothbrush actually talks?”

“I am sooooo good at typing the word with. With with with with with. Awesome.”

“It would be awesome if this scene worked … like, even just a little. Is there a writer in the house?”

“The dishwasher is louder today than yesterday.”

“Cemeteries are pretty. Stupid, but pretty.”

“I hope my daughter reads this book one day.”

“El train or L train? Probably should know that. Note to self: Know more stuff.”

“There should be a dog. Wait, that’s from something else. Oh yeah, Shakespeare in Love.”

“I’m kidding myself.”

“Stop pretending to be a writer.”

“I swear my Xbox has a gravitational pull.”

“I miss Wilford Brimley. The Brimster. The BrimReaper. Wait, is he dead?”

“I hope serrated means sharp, because I like that word.”

“Hot pockets!”

“I know why writers drink, but this scene is why readers drink.”

“Seriously, stop pretending to be a writer.”

“My character is breaking my heart. I wish I didn’t have to break hers.”

“Corpse Water would be the greatest band name ever.”

“You are about to get Shawshank-ed, ya’ll!”


“Stop typing, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“No one will ever read this.”

“Go ahead, quit. You’re good at that.”

“Anyone want a 75,000-word piece of shit about uninteresting people doing nothing at all?”

“Writer (noun): Not me.”

“Good night, possibility.”

“Good morning, better idea.”

“I need to stop drowning people. I can’t even reread those sections myself.”

“So then … Ooooooooooooooh, that actually works!”

“Sometimes there’s nothing else in the world but a frozen Jack’s pizza.”

“I would want this character to be my friend.”

“I hope my wife likes this. A lot.”

“People don’t deliver lines, they talk.”

“Now I’m watching pole-vault videos.”

“This chase scene makes me happy. It’s crap, but ya know, crapping makes me happy, too.”

“Not to self: Watch more fashion week.”

“Today I write my ending. I’ve been dreaming of writing this ending for months and months and months and months.”

“Fingers won’t move.”

“Silent keys.”

“Someone find me a writer, please. This ending deserves a competent brain.”

“Getting hit by a county bus would suck.”

“Select All, Delete.”

“Does the clock say 12:00 or Yoda?”

“Is this any good?”

“The end. For better or worse.”



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