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I Am Weak.

1/27/2017

Happened just now, and I was NOT in the shower...

My brain: Ooo! I have a great idea for a story. And look... And look... And this would be very clever...
Me: No new books. Must finish this one. Deadline.
My brain: But look!
Me. Okay. I'll look, but only for a minute.

Great plot twist rears its beautiful head like a jewel encrusted dragon.
I pet the dragon.

My brain: See?!
Me: Damnit! *pours more Pepsi to lure brain back into line*

What I really need is a brain babysitter. A cow-dog to keep my attention in line.
But no. I get dragons.

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About the room...

There are a number of rooms in my head. Behind one, there is a gnarly table covered with thick open books. If I close those and tuck them away on the shelves, my thoughts become less cluttered. I can focus on whatever is left on the table.

The floor of another room has so many tasseled pillows you can never reach the surface beneath. Tapestries cover the stone walls. (This is from my childhood memory of a movie about Katherine the Great. I think Peter O'Toole was tickled there without mercy.) I loved her room so much, I created one of my own.

The most trafficked place in my head, though, is The Waiting Room. Characters arrive of their own free will. Few are ever asked to leave--even the villains have to be allowed from time to time, though I try to finish their stories and hustle them out the door as quickly as I can.

The room itself is square. No alcoves for characters to hide from me or initiate romances with characters from other books. For example, the main character from a Regency romance started flirting with Isobelle from 1496! I had to get to her story quickly before the relationship could threaten both their happily ever afters.

I have an obsession with white-leather wing-backed chairs, so the waiting room is full of them. Let's face it, there's an actual duke in there and I can't just give him a folding chair from Sam's Club, can I? His given name is Stanley, and like Stanley, many of these characters have been waiting years for their turn. And though they need no food and water, no change of costume or trip to the loo, I like to think I've made them comfortable.

I mentioned that few have been asked to leave. One of those was Mrs. Wiggs, a female gunfighter and a lovely woman for the most part. But she doesn't suffer fools or poor piano playing, so when she shot another character for a weak attempt to entertain the rest, I had to send her and her guns packin'. *snort* Get it? Packin'?

In any case, Mrs. Wiggs will have to bide her time in the waiting room of Bella Bowen until her trilogy is finished. (Bella Bowen is the pen name under which I publish Western romances.) She's better off there. Or at least, the other gun-toting characters will be able to defend themselves... As for the poor piano player, I don't think she's going to make it.

I Am Weak.

About the room...

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