These are my notebooks. They are full of many a middle of the night epiphanies where I awake saying to myself, “OMG that could work!” I reach over to my bedside table and open to a blank page (I leave a pen inside to mark an open page) and I scribble what ever that thought was usually in the dark, sometimes with one eye open half blinded by my book light.
I lost one of my notebooks once I still grieve its loss every now and again because within it I’d written a perfect scene, I’m afraid that I’ll see that very scene somewhere, my idea stolen. What bugs me too, is that I can’t exactly remember what I wrote. Sure, I have the general idea, but the prose came to me in a moment of pure inspiration and I’ve been reluctant to attempt to re-write that scene. I’ll get to it. When I’m ready.
I don’t just jot down middle of the night notes. No. I carry one with me everywhere (usually the pink one. Its a moleskine, and I love it. Partly because of its pretty pink shade, but mostly because within it are countless notes written in the middle of the produce section at my supermarket, or while waiting in line at Kohls. Notes sometimes quickly written in scribbly print, or carefully, each time happy that my muse tapped me on my shoulder with a whisper of inspiration.