So… first things first, I just deleted my Snowed in Scribe blog and I have to say, there’s some sort of finality to it, it’s gone, into the fires of this blog-o-verse (or wherever they send the rejected blogs, perhaps it’s chilly there) and I’m actually sad about it. Which is odd, since it’s a just blog. And all the content of that blog is in this one. And I “re-found” the blogs I followed. And I still have my followers. So there really isn’t a reason to be sad about it. I might have to pay some sort of homage to it via my name “Kellie Doherty: The Snowed in Scribe” or something, and perhaps I will. I’ve had some close people of mine tell me they actually liked that name better (it was more creative and fun, they said). I like the name too, why else would I have chosen it?
Anyway, random aside done… onto the actual blog post:
One thing I’ll always love about writing is when that inspiration strikes. Out of a scarlet inferno of ideas, character traits, scenes, and words swirling in the creative recesses of my mind, it just hits me, a flash of blue, burning to get out. Like I’ve tossed some useless wood into fire, expecting a plethora of reds and yellows like usual, only to have it burst into different colors – blues, purples and greens. It’s that sudden unexpected flash of color, that flash of idea, that you just have to get down onto paper before it’s lost forever.
I crave those moments! And what’s more, it happens at different times for everybody. There’s no formula for inspiration (and don’t we wish there were?) it just… happens. I was conversing with a friend only last week who said her biggest ideas come while she’s in the shower, while another friend said hers comes in the middle of the night. As for mine, you know that twilight hour where you’re not sure if you’re asleep or awake, right before you actually drift off? That’s when mine hits. I usually keep a pen and a pad of paper next to my bed specifically for those moments. (Although, the way my handwriting is the next morning I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to try to scribble in the dark.)
J.K. Rowling once said Harry Potter just walked into her life one day while riding the underground away from London. There he was, scar on his forehead, green eyes and unkempt hair sticking out at odd angles, walking around in her imagination and from there the series was born. Random, sudden, turning an everyday chore into a momentous life-changing occasion. If that’s not a flash of green or blue within the fires, I honestly don’t what is.