Thinking is writing.
I’ve said this before, but the longer I’ve been a writer the truer it becomes. (Sometimes to the detriment to the people around me. I am not ignoring you on purpose.)
A writer friend mentioned yesterday that I should do some writing without paper, pencil or device. I took the advice. I jumped into the pool and just soaked for a good long time, basking in the tropical environment around me. Since I was alone, I had nothing to do but think, so I wrote – in my mind. I pondered the two novel ideas (not new ideas, literally novel ideas) that I’ve been trying to decide between. (preposition – live with it) The first one I had previously started, and I assumed it was the one I should continue. But the second one has an intriguing premise which might have a broader appeal.
What to do? Continue soaking in the pool.
The mind of a writer constantly weaves in contradicting directions. Who came tame it? I do think that sometimes people believe I’m unfriendly or don’t want to talk with them, but that is not the case at all. I am usually lost in some plot-line or thinking how a character should talk based on a conversation I just overheard. The surrounding world is the writer’s tableau, its the writer’s sensory input, its the writer’s raw materials and product. And what better way to explore it than through the silent mind of observation.
After soaking some more, I did pull up a chair at a nearby table and opened the laptop. I spent an hour and a half on my first idea, creating its second chapter and beginning to flesh out some of the characters. But as I finished, I couldn’t help but wonder if I should switch over to idea 2.
Perhaps it’s time to do some additional soaking this afternoon.