Making the Mix CD

One of the things that I find myself doing whenever I'm writing for the stage is creating a mix CD of songs that might have meaning for the characters.  I'll hear a certain song and it will make me think, "Oh!  Devin would like this song!" or "This is how Kelly feels when Devin is being a jack-wagon to her."  So, I keep several files for each of my plays:  one for each act of the script, one with the cast list, and one with notes or outlining, and now one with the compilation CD that I'm making for my characters.

Now that it's become a part of my process for stage writing, I find it creeping into my other writing as well.  Just the other day, I heard the song "Hey, Soul Sister" by Train and it has a lyric about Mr. Mister in it.  That just happens to be a band I was obsessed with in middle school.  It made me think about the song "Kyrie" and as I listened to that song, all I could think about was that this was the lyric that my main character in this year's novel attempt, Beata, would have running through her head as she made the decision to run from the angels.

So, it might seem like wasted time, but that kind of thing not only puts me in the mood to write, but often it inspires certain plot twists. 

Wait, Conductor...I thought this was the Sleep Train - you say we're headed to Crazytown instead?

It's 106 miles from Chicago.  We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses.

I can see sleep from here.  It's close, like going through a tunnel in a car, but you keep getting fooled by how far away the other side is.  It seems closer than it really is. You're sure you'll emerge into the light on the other side in just a breath.  But it's not happening.

Sleep. Is. Not. Happening.

Not yet.

My body clock is still set on "Summer", yet the roofers are virtuous, hard-working, early-risers who will be pounding over my head at  6:00 a.m.  I cannot blame them for their membership in the early flock, but I want to.  I really, really do.

So, with miles to go before I sleep (and so precious those minutes I'll be allowed to slumber), I sit here and realize that perhaps I need to get a few things off my chest, and that will invite the Sandman to an earlier rendez-vous than our regular late night fare.

1.  I am afraid to discuss politics on my Facebook page.  Yes, afeared, as it were, of starting a conflagration, a confrontation in which I will be somehow forced to justify my opinion to someone else, when, in fact, it's just my opinion.  There are times when I truly care what others' opinions are, and whether or not they agree with my own, and whether I could somehow persuade others of my rightness or find someone else to persuade me of my own wrongness in some matter.  Yet, I cannot find the manjigglies to declare to all and sundry, yodel from my personal electronic mountaintop, of my political fury.  Perhaps I am old-fashioned, Mid-Western, of polite German stock that frowns on such diatribes and serves another helping of casserole rather than engages in such pasttimes.  Or, perhaps I find the idea of making many of the people I value enough to give access to my page uncomfortable with the extremity of my emotion unseemly or impolite, and by doing so, give WAY too much credence to whether or not anyone actually cares what my opinion on these issues are.  Or, maybe I'm afraid of being discounted, pooh-poohed, pish-toshed, or harrumphed.  Or, perhaps, as a surface-dweller who occasionally peeks into the depths that others plumb in themselves to reach great moments of epiphany while I'm pointing at the pretty colored fishes, I would rather talk about the strawberry-rhubarb pie I'm planning to make tomorrow.

2.  I don't write enough, or rather, efficiently enough.  In discussing my writing, it always looks like more than it really is.  I don't write every day, although I'm trying to change that.  (Note:  Let's be clear here, I don't diary.  I don't journal.  I have great admiration for people who can do that.  I can never keep it up for more than two weeks.  This blogging thing is a total aberration and may go the way of the dodo before very long, too.)  This is my writing attempt today.  I'm already feeling better about myself for doing it.  So, perhaps this is the start of a beautiful relationship with my "author self".  Or perhaps I'm full of shit.

3.  SIX A.M!!!!!  Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME????

4.  Tomorrow, all I want to do is throw the laptop in the car and find a conveniently electrified and caffeinated nook to hunker down in and work on some projects.  That was, in fact, the plan.  Yes, there is grocery shopping to do - not a problem.  I'll go for groceries first.  The lawn needs mowing - got it.  Did it today.  The roofers are here.  

The husband, who is conveniently working regular business day-type hours over the next two days, expressed, "Shouldn't there be someone around while they're here?"  Who?  Who shall that be?  You?  No, of course not.  You're working at a paying job, and I am on summer vacation.  I get that, I really do.   My issue is not with who should do it, but, rather why?  Wait.  Okay - do I need to be present for that whole thing?  Do they need me to pitch in a hand or something?  Should I put on some lovely, floral Laura Ashley dress and a straw sunhat with a wide, graceful brim and tour the workers with cold lemonade?   His response, "What if they have to go to the bathroom?"  And, wouldn't you bloody know it?  The only answers I could come up with made me sound like a heartless bitch.  Even to me.  So, I'm sticking close to home the next two days - or at least until I can ask one of the hardworking men pounding on my roof if I really need to stick around for anything.


Well, it's time to go chase the Sandman down and hogtie him.