A writer isn't always in control of what zips through their mind. It seems thoughts swim constantly around the ozone layer; you reach up and blindly grab one of them, and they become your message. You don't truly understand where they originated, but suddenly, they make sense. When I'm driving a bus, thoughts come in waves. Occasionally, one of these knocks me down and forces me to take notice. Others seem to float away on the breeze, never to be recaptured.
Often, I have no idea what will happen when I sit at the desk to write. An idea will float by, a memory from when I drove a day, a week, even a month ago. Perhaps I'll add embellishment or a tweak. Often times, the tale just pours out as it occurred. Funny thing is, I can't remember a grocery list if it contains three or more items. But a story is unlike anything so concrete as what's needed at home. It has flexibility. As I write, tangents become visible within the mist. Parts not thought of previously fly into view and weave themselves into the grand scheme.
It's funny how a workday's overall feel can affect a blog post. If something pisses me off, my writing reflects it. If I've had a smooth ride, I'm a bit more waxy. These days, I'm pulled in several directions, so writing isn't a priority. Having to promote a book while managing work and family life gets a bit tricky. We're also trying to buy a home, which is stressful in the best conditions. This past week, I've been too tired and ornery to be creative. In fact, I'm battling sleep as I write this. Yet, the writer's muse pulls me into bloggery once again. I'm hopelessly hooked on words. Five years ago, I only thought about writing. Usually, I can't seem to survive without telling y'all what happened out there.
Tonight though, I'll pass on this week's past transit travels. It's the start of a new signup. Where I once lamented upon leaving one run for another, it's now simple routine. I neither look forward to, or relish the idea of, something new. It's just work, folks. I drive a bus. People get on and eventually get off, yet I'm still there. Until I set the brake on the assigned track at the yard, it's a blur from one day to the next.
This is my life. It's not compelling or thrilling on any typical day. Just drive, asshole. Okay, I will. And I do. Is there something more?
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