This past week I tiptoed into the chaos. Books filled and overflowed the book cases. Boxes sat where I had dropped them in my rush to tidy up the 'public' areas of the house. And dust sparkled on every surface. Obviously my 'crap' room was a place I avoid.
With a deep sigh and resignation, I picked a couple of teetering piles of papers. Thinking that I would get rid of those piles and feel vindicated. Then I could tiptoe back out of the chaos into the relative cleanliness of the rest of the house.
I leafed through some notes that I had jotted on a sliver of paper. They made no sense. I tossed them. I sorted a few magazines out of the stack. A couple of still usable notebooks. The directions for a knitted baby blanket that I'd been searching for. And then, I discovered some old OLD writings. Some fiction ideas.
I leaned back in my chair and started reading. The story line brought back memories of my own life on which I had based the writings, but more than that.... I realized that this was good. Not even quite a rough draft. It was the nugget and details of a fiction novel that had some teeth and depth and details.
I set aside those 'notes' and finished going through the pile, finding several other beginnings of novels that stood the test of time. My mind was spinning with possibilities.
All it takes is an attempt to make sense out of chaos and suddenly the world is filled with possibilities and stories to tell.
My crap room now looks more like a treasure chest where I will go to find more gems. There's an upside to saving things....
No comments:
Post a Comment