Routineology – S.T. Rucker
Faint dawn gently graces the skies through the blinds of my window, laying a ghostly blue kiss on my eyelids. “You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming?” Well, forget about it. Three kids with ADHD thunder from room to room in the apartment upstairs. Blaring through the even thinner walls out of trucks in the parking lot, ranchero (with amplified bass) loud enough to wake God.
My Muse does not like all this noise and, frankly, neither do I. Irritation and rage gnaws at me. My stories flit around in my brain interrupting and superimposing one another. Sitting on my bed/sofa futon with my laptop and notebooks. Riding on the bus with my tablet and field journal handy. With life experiences + “feels” + imagination, inspiration, and a lot of notes and planning, I write the images and emotions inside me until I absolutely have to do something else and can’t write another word…right after I vent/journal about the hellacious noise level, therapeutically attempting to empty my brain of all distractions I can’t control.
Story, I will be true to you.