Hmm...

[queenoftheskies]

This morning, I accidentally found some things I'd written back in the fall. Two poems that were inspired by the blood red sky when we were having brush fires. It was stunning (the sky, that is), and so in comparison to the deadliness of the fires.

When I got to work that morning, I remember sitting down to write these poems. They just spilled from my head.

Since I'm not exactly a poet by nature, I can't say whether or not they're any good, but it was neat to see them and to remember, from reading them, the images that inspired them. It tells me that I at least managed to capture the essence of what I saw and what I felt that morning.

I also had some song lyrics on an attached page. It's funny, but once something stimulates that part of my creative brain, it kinda makes things gush out like a damn broke. I had written those (two songs) that morning, too.

I used to write lots of song lyrics, but I haven't really, since all the crap started at work last year and everything moved forward to what's going on this year.

They're written for characters in some of my novels, so whenever I need lyrics for a novel, I click my way on over to my lyrics files and re-read them all to see what fits the occasion.

It used to be that, once I got an idea for one song, that before I could get home/work/wherever I was going, I'd have half a dozen more fragments in my head. I'd have to play them over and over as I drove to make sure I didn't lose them. (Yes, sadly, they always struck when I was driving.)

I miss those days and I wonder if they'll ever come again.

Comments

[cathellisen.livejournal.com]

I miss those days and I wonder if they'll ever come again.

Because you're thinking about them, they most likely will. Juat something I've noticed from my own experience. Sometimes we (writers) seem to experience a burn-out in one particular field, go play in another, and then return to our home grounds refreshed, and with a wealth of new experience as inspiration.

We grow older, accumulating stickers on the luggage of our souls, and then we unpack, and find that bikini we were last able to fit into when we were sixteen, and the future stretched like a golden beach on the horizon of our dreams. And it's like seeing that bikini for the first time, it's a *new* bikini, and we can hear again the sound of surf.

Okay. I have no idea what iI just wrote. It was like radio interference. I think I'm channeling some long dead self-help type.

[lizziebelle.livejournal.com]

Do you have a small tape recorder for when inspiration hits in the car? I often wish I had one, and I sometimes have to pull over to write things down for fear of losing them. One of those little dictation recorders would be perfect. :)

[wrathchylde.livejournal.com]

I used to think my poems were song lyrics, til I realized that if there is no music, they're poems.