Weatherman

You've seen those movies where you get the perspective of the main character - normally a character who is dazzled (or tormented) by his own mind. The worst one I saw was in my educational psychology class: the prof showed us a video of a day in the life of a schizophrenic. Oh dear God, it was terrifying. More than that, it was frustrating. It's like one of those dreams when, no matter how hard you try, you only move in slow-motion. I hate those. Because they're so damn frustrating.

I see my life as scenes in a book. Or a movie, which makes me wonder sometimes if I should try my hand at writing a screenplay. That would be cool. Then everyone could see exactly what I see in my head. I'm sure it would pale in comparison to what actually goes on in between my ears, but at least it would give some kind of perspective of how my brain works. Believe me, I'm far from insane. But I operate on a level of "this is here and now" and "this is how I'll write it later." I hear the soundtrack of my life in my playlist specifically reserved for driving to Pennsylvania, and the songs trigger thoughts not of driving to see Joey, but being on the run to the next safe house where I and my partners will be safe (usually in those scenarios I'm the only girl, usually younger than the others but with the savvy of someone much older and wiser than I really am) until the authorities catch up with us and our rebellion again. (I still want to write that novel.) The other day when I was pulling into the parking lot at work, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by U2 came on the radio while the credits played in my head for the movie about a young person wondering if his or her life was destined to remain small and day-in-day-out. What I was out with what was left of the Penbury crowd on Friday, we asked one of the guys to do a Turkish accent and he gobbled like a turkey, and I immediately started forming descriptions in my head about how to put that into words without it sounding over-explained. (The last thing I want to be is condescending to my reader. Y'all are intelligent, you pick up more than I give you credit for.) The love story that I am currently in the middle of would surely rival the fictional best sellers cranked out by Steele, Sparks, and Picoult.

Which sounds like a law firm, doesn't it?

All around me are the characters for stories that I can never really get down just the way I want them. The plot of my life right now is just one scene in the grand scheme of a tale that I am longing to tell, but maybe think I should hold off until I'm a little older and have more than just the conflict to write about - readers want resolution, right? But the more I write, the more I am sure that I am a writer. Today I was writing an email to my dad and re-read the paragraph that I had just written, only to find the most delicious line I've written in weeks: "But life does go on, doesn't it? In its steadfast and sometimes cruel way, it plods fixedly forward and leaves us pockets of time to reflect and remember in between the 'have-to's' of getting groceries and washing windows."

I accidentally wrote a line with five - count'em, FIVE - alliterations. WHO DOES THAT BY ACCIDENT.

In the same way I was forced to plink out "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" for twenty minutes every day so I could move on to something else, dear Lord anything else but "Twinkle Twinkle" again, I write every day (almost) to keep my writing muscle in shape. And when I look around with the eyes of a writer, it gives me things to write about. No doubt many of the people I interact with every day will be characters in some story that I write some day. Or they might just appear as themselves in the "stranger than fiction" story I'll write about my real life. Who knows.

You'll just have to keep reading to find out.