My Brain Needs a USB port

I’d love it if we could take a little memory card and dump memories onto and make room for more–sort of like that thing J.K. Rowling did in the Harry Potter series with that silvery goo stuff.   I can’t recall–heh–how many times I’ve observed something in life that I thought, “Hey…that would make a great scene for a novel…or at least a great start to something.”  And then, a year or so later I’ll remember that I had that thought but I’m not always sure about what it was originally.

A couple of years ago, okay, more like twelve years ago, I can’t remember when, but it was a while back, I was out with Emma and Bill and we witnessed this poignant and moving exchange between a grandmother and a grand-child.  I remember thinking, “WOW…I want to use that some day.”  And now?  I’m not even sure if the grandmother did something evil and nasty or loving and kind.  I just remember being moved.

Heck, if I had a USB port for a memory card, I could use it as a direct link to my computer.  Direct brain waves would bypass that persnickety voice recognition problem no one seems to be able to figure out and typing!

I’m always thinking about scenes, running dialogue in my head, and “writing” when I’m doing things that prohibit the physical act of writing.    I have written thousands of words in my head while in the shower, driving, washing dishes and working out.  Sometimes I can get to a note pad or a computer to get the gist of something down if not the entire scene. Usually, I end up sitting at the computer thinking, “What was that thing I was going to have this character do next?  I think it was a really good idea, too….”

It could be fun to use at that morning dream time when I know I’ve had some great stuff running around in my head.   I know of at least two books on writing that encourage writers to tumble out of bed, ignore the rest of the world and get some writing done without anything invading your creative, just waking self.  It sounds great in theory, but reality doesn’t always play along with theory.  I have kids, one who goes to bed after I do, and one who gets up before I do.  The only alone time I have for writing is generally during the morning after I’ve helped make breakfasts, lunches and ensured the kids are safely on their way to school.   By that time, any creative dream-like writing state I might have cashed in on has been spent on making a lunch my seven-year old will eat.

Plenty of writers use note pads and index cards to record these moments of inspiration.    Short of the futuristic computer implants and magical silver compounds, paper may be the best solution.  I’m just afraid I won’t remember where I’ve put them.

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