Finding a good time to write my stories is important. The words come to me in an even flow. More important is a good place to compose them, without interruptions, to prevent losing my chain of thought.
Cats, dogs, neighbors and family members don’t really care about you losing your place. If the truth was known, heck, they probably do it on purpose.
If I shut my door, I see a mysterious paws reaching underneath, as if to grab me and make me open my door. For probably the same reason, the TV gets turned up louder. My wife’s suspicions aroused, she opens the door with greater frequency, to “check up” on me, to make sure that I’m “alright.”
Early morning hours are perfect for solitude while dreams are still fresh, but then the kittens are hungry and want to play. By the time I drink my coffee, they’ve settled down, where was I?
Oh yeah, I was gonna write about… What’s that honey? Oh you’re just checking up on me, I’m fine, go back to bed or do you want to read a few lines to make sure that I’m not writing about you?
I’ve got to where I don’t post my dream stories anymore. They are all over the map and if I took the time to reread them before I post, I never would.
I don’t know how to explain this feeling I get but sometimes I can read a story that someone else writes and it opens the gates for stories of my own that are similar in kind. My problem is, I don’t like to read. I guess because I’m always editing in my mind.
I guess the biggest disappointment in writing is not knowing if anyone reads your work or not. That’s what it is though, work. It’s not that easy. Try it sometime and you will probably agree.
I sell a hundred kittens on line every year. I post about a hundred stories in the same place, Facebook. Few will acknowledge on line that they enjoyed reading my stories but not that many. Yet, almost everyone that picks up a kitten tells me that they really like my stories. (I wish I had known.)
When I see old friends on the street, they are usually very friendly, they tell me they like this story or that story. I guess everyone has their favorite. Since I write about my life and the people in it, I figure that in the back of their mind, they are all wondering what kind of story am I going to write about them.
I buy a lot of cat food at the Dollar Store. A lady came up to me one day and thanked me for my stories about yard art. She said her husband is retired and doesn’t do much but sit in his recliner and watch TV. After she showed him pictures that I posted about my yard art, he started making birdhouses too. Now he’s off the couch, staying busy. I don’t have a clue as to how she knew me or who I was or even how she got to reading my Facebook page. I guess we all effect other people’s lives without knowing.
Strange things have happened to me, after writing a story.
About 20 years ago my brother and I got arrested for suspicion of murder. We spent a few days in the Tallahassee jail. Many years later, after my brother had passed away, I wrote a story about it. I posted it online, then a few weeks later Discovery aired a documentary on “The Mystery at Seminole Lake,” detailing the crime. A year or two passes by and I reposted the same story. Two weeks later the dead man’s wife and her new husband were arrested for his murder. They got the same guy that we told them we saw at the crime scene 20 years ago.
I get those “De Ja Vu” goosebumps all the time. Hard to explain but when I get them, the gates open up and I write about my memories and get to relive the adventure, one more time.
I post my stories on different sites, trying to drum up readership. The eeriest feeling of them all is when I get likes from different people, nearly the same time, on the same story that I posted on different sites, years before. How do you explain that?
Seems like I have let the urge to write pass me by this morning. What ever I was gonna write about will come back to me in good time, maybe tonight after everyone has gone to bed. The question is, do I shut my door or leave it wide open?