Randomness of a Writer

My husband thinks I’m insane, but not in the “we should stick her in a white room” sort of way, my kids think I’m funny, and most people think I’m random or forgetful. They wouldn’t think me forgetful if they ever saw the inside of my mind. It’s a wash with ideas and scenes and things to remember for the house, the kids, my husband, and the ranch. Then there is this strange ability that I have for remembering movies after watching them once, and if I read the book that corresponds to the movie then I can tell you the difference.

But why does he think I’m insane today. Because I went to bed at midnight and woke at 4am to write out the scene that came to me in my sleep, then this blog post, and the start of a future one, only to drift back to sleep until 6am. At which time I woke to start writing for the morning before my kids wake-up and make it near impossible to get anything done. I’m sure I’ll feel the lack of sleep today when we brand calves—sorry, just looked out the window and it’s raining again so no calf branding today, maybe next week. We really need to get the cattle off the meadow soon or we won’t have enough hay.

Right now I’m riding my high with the help of coffee—o glorious, very strong coffee. I’ll be jumping off the walls and be at my most random in another hour or so. Or maybe I’ve already started? Humm… This could make for an interesting day all around?

As for the insane strand I started this post with: Yesterday, he was shaking his head at the after-sex writing secession. I wrote two scenes and three pages before I went back to bed. What can I say? Sex inspires me to write.

A couple days ago it was my conversation at the wood pile with my imaginary friend, while I cut wood. Okay, just writing that makes me sound crazy. But it’s true. Of course he only heard my side of the argument, not Tyr’s. Though if he had heard Tyr’s, then it’s time to take him to the nut house.

Then there are the times when I immerse myself so deeply into my stories that I forget to take care of the simple chores in the house, like taking out the garbage, cleaning the bathroom, make dinner (I love to cook), doing the dishes, and truly clean up after the kids at night. I also forget to eat (although kids will never let you forget to feed them), make sure my clothes match when I get dressed (I’d probably not get dressed at all, but I sleep in the nude so it’s a must to get dressed in the morning), or take a shower.

Chaos rules my house, which drives my husband crazy since he likes a clean home and sends me into a clean frenzy during down times since I need some semblance of organization and order (My mom’s a clean freak. My dad’s a pack rat. My space is a sort of ordered chaos. My mom would call it a mess. LOL)

Who knew living with a writer could be filled with random moments and rollercoaster emotions. My husband sure didn’t. But he’s taking it well, for which I’ll always be grateful. I’ve had a few friends, one a writer herself, who could never handle it. She always wanted to do the normal teen thing and go shopping, or eat out, or see a movie (I hate theaters. People are always shushing me for being too loud, because when something scares me by jumping out of a closet, I scream and hold nothing back.) I’m also one of those writers who spend most my time with my books, even when I’m out and about I’m looking for more content for my stories or think about them. I’m so bad with that. I never stop working, even when I’m sitting still.

What about the rest of you? Ever have any of these moments?

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