Ms. Salgo, an English teacher from my high school days, told us, “Always carry your writer’s book with you because you never know when you’ll get ideas”. Each time I scribble a note about my current project or random thoughts, I think of her. She’s had that buzzing in her ear for months (assuming she’s still alive).
I have mini-books of blank pages in every bag that I carry. My desk regularly hides under pieces of 8.5 x 11 paper crammed with notations. I wrote a chapter in the margins of an obsolete car seat manual when my starter motor failed and I was stuck for two hours waiting for the CAA. There’s a note pad by my bed to capture the details of my dreams before they’re lost in the the routines of the day.
Those snippets of people, story ideas and events are the fodder for a creative product.
Ms. Salgo gave very sound advice.
I’ve been recording ideas for years, even though I followed a medical career path. My writer’s soul stayed with me, waiting for this time to come. We renovated before I became a born again writer. In clearing out the main floor of our house and all my “junk”, I contemplated pitching my old “big box o’ notes”, fearing inherited hoarding tendencies.
I couldn’t. The writer within refused to let Ms. Salgo’s advice out of my head.
And I couldn’t be happier about it.