I’m thinking…I’m thinking


Hmmm… my best thinking?
That would have to take place in my bed, at the end of the day. It’s unfortunate, really, because it gets in the way of a good night’s sleep, but inspiration tends to hit me then. Ideas for stories come to me and my imagination runs wild.
I guess it happens because it’s the time of day when I slow down. I’m not focusing on whatever I have to get done, I’m not trying to get some place, my body is resting but my mind is just starting to wake up.
I will be starting to drift off when suddenly an idea will hit me. I get up, stumble over to my desk, scrawl down a couple of sentences on a post-it and hope that that will satiate me enough so I can get some rest. It’s not always enough.
Every now and then I just have to get up, take off my sleep mask, turn on the light, sit at my desk and write. Write it out. Every thought, plot, story, character, idea, title and general tone that I have come up with just has to get jotted down. On the few occasions that I have ignored this need to write everything down, I have lost the idea by the time I wake up the next day. It’s very much like trying to remember a dream. Impossible. And I regret not putting the idea on paper.
All I can do is hope that inspiration will strike again the next time I go to bed.


Sixteen Saltines by Jack White

She’s got stickers on her locker, 
And the boys’ numbers there in magic marker, 
I’m hungry and the hunger will linger, 
I eat sixteen saltine crackers then I lick my fingers, 

Well every morning I deliver the news, 
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over, 
She’s got a big mailbox that she puts out front, 
Garbage in, garbage out, she’s gettin’ what she wants, 

Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous of who?
If I get busy then I couldn’t care less what you do, 
But when I’m by myself I think of nothing else, 
Than if a boy just might be getting through and touching you, 

Spike heels make a hole in a lifeboat, 
Driftin’ away when I’m talking and laughing as we float, 
I hear a whistle, that’s how I know she’s home, 
Lipstick, eyelash, broke mirror, broken home, 

Force fed, forced meds ’til I drop dead, 
You can’t defeat her, when you meet her you’ll get what I said, 
And Lord knows there’s a method to her madness, 
But the Lord’s joke is a boat in a sea of sadness, 

She doesn’t know but when she’s gone I sit and drink her perfume, 
And I’m sure she’s drinkin’ two, but why, where, and what for and who?
And I’m solo rollin’ on one side of the boat, 
Looking out, throwing up, a lifesaver down my throat, 

Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous? Who’s jealous of who?

‘Kiss Like Your…


‘Kiss Like Your Kiss’ by Lucinda Williams


There’ll never be a spring so perfect again
You’ll never see a yellow so rich
The grass will never be quite as green
And there’ll never be a kiss like your kiss.

There will never be a summer so complete
You’ll never see a palette like this
The berries will never taste as sweet
There’ll never be a kiss like your kiss

There will never be an autumn so vivid and warm
So red, so golden, so crisp
You’ll never see a color in aubergine
There’ll never be a kiss like your kiss.

There’ll never be a winter quite so true
When the sky was painted with gifts
There’ll never be a moon so full & blue
There’ll never be a kiss like your kiss

There’ll never be a kiss like your kiss…