Convoluted mind of a writer
I have a Pinterest account, not a Facebook account. While that might not seem like a terribly important confession, my tendency is to use the Pinterest account as a sort of digital notebook. It’s much tidier than trying to find bits and scraps of ideas amid the flotsam of crumpled notepads and torn napkins, since I’m an inveterate jotter. I scribble down all sorts of random information wherever I can find a clean space.
So imagine my delight in finding Pinterest: a veritable wealth of ideas for the aspiring writer and nifty little categories to keep all that information organized. I think my favorites are the writing prompts. The ideas come from other writers to encourage one another to actually write or as exercises to spark the creative juices. I screen shot and use various prompts that pop up on Pinterest for my AVID classes as quick writes. I’m a firm believer in using imagination to build better writers, so prefer the flamboyance of “A talking wolf is the least of your problems,” he said to the humdrum write about a life experience or choose whether bubble gum should come in balls or sticks. Wait, that last has possibilities….
Still, there are those off the wall prompts that magically appear on my screen and tickle my skewed sense of humor. Prompts I find amusing and delightful, but will never use in a story or novel simple because it’s not my style, such as:
“That has got to be the lamest pick-up line in existence.”
“Don’t worry. That’s just Plan A.”
“So what’s Plan B?”
“To take you hostage.”
Nope, I can’t go to Hell.
Satan still has a restraining order against me.
“No, sir. I am not underestimating the kidnappers. YOU are underestimating my grandmother.”
“I need to talk to a human,” he demanded.
“And why do we have to bring a twelve-year-old to a crime scene?”
The boy smiled faintly and replied, “Detective, I am here for your protection.”
Such fun little prompts that stir my soul, yet will never find life on the printed page. So why do I collect them? For the same reason I collected bits of broken pottery or green rocks at the beach—they fascinate me; cases of what ifs, never weres, might have beens which satisfy some primal, deep seated urge to let my imagination run wild and fill up my creative tank. The bits and piece simmer and stew in the back of my brain and somewhere along the way metamorphose into brave new worlds of my own creation. They become the building blocks of my universe as essential and powerful as DNA.
And if not, they function as wonderful money wrenches to mess with my students’ minds.