My mind’s a babbling brook

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No, really. It’s just this little stream, happily skipping along thanks to the power of caffeine as it spurts out possibly inappropriate comments.

AKA – Phoebe doesn’t do well on interrupted sleep. Which is all she’s gotten this week. The only reason these words are getting down on here is thanks to the second cup of coffee I’m consuming.

Meanwhile, as I haven’t had my proper six hours of uninterrupted sleep, I wake up with “Let It Go” playing in my head. Then I wonder, do other people have songs playing in their heads? I mean, I could, if I concentrate, have the soundtrack to “Les Mis” play word for word through my head. Original Cast. I remember lyrics like I remember to breathe. And I’m just now thinking this might not be normal.

Seriously, I can belt out lyrics to a song I haven’t listened to since 1994, but those four years of French I took are a mystery to me. Obviously, I needed to learn French musically.

I also have three different plot lines rolling through my heads, different snippets of stories that I have written down, but haven’t expanded on because I’m trying to concentrate on revising the one story. So, maybe four plot lines. I have found that I need to write these down, not just to remember my brilliant ideas, but to get the extra words out of my head. Part of my weekend away was about writing, and in writing, I realized my head had been too cluttered with words. I mean, I need that brain space for Rick Astley lyrics.

I’ve also embraced the idea of reading more. Which sounds weird, as I love to read. But there’s this moment you get caught in, as a writer, a fear of reading your genre too much, and then accidentally plagiarizing. So you stop reading. Which just makes you sad. Then you fill that reading time with scrolling through Pinterest, which puts more thoughts and ideas in your head, then you’re stuck with all those ideas in your head and not spending time using those ideas because you’re inner writer is blocked…

I’m guessing all that makes sense to maybe 3% of you. Sorry.

Then Maura comes along at 3 am, elbowing me awake for the next three hours, and bam! Brain ooze.

And that’s how you end up with a post like this – or worse – you fall into a Scooby Doo induced coma on the couch, and then NOTHING makes sense anymore.

 

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