Last week a friend asked me where I came up with my ideas. What I write (ideas) and what drives me to write about it (inspiration) are two separate things (see my earlier post for more on inspiration).

I can get an idea from anything. Sometimes ideas come to me out of thin air, in the middle of the night. Sometimes I write about something that happened to me or someone I know. I have favorite subjects (baseball!) and themes (Grecian Urn Theory) and character types (strong independent females) that populate my stories regularly. Actually, a great number of my story ideas are re-imaginings and extrapolations of real life. It’s both fun and therapeutic and the end result is good fiction (I hope).

My characters, all of them, have some piece of me in them. Their motivations, their mannerisms, their dreams, their nightmares… something was mine and I have loaned it to them.

I mentioned awhile back that I’m having some trouble with one of my characters. She keeps talking back to me, trying to go rogue. The good news is I’ve managed to shut the Inernal Editor up enough that she’s only a distant buzzing in my mind, and I can write, write, write.

Now my biggest problem is this character won’t stay in character. She’s supposed to be passive, but she keeps speaking up. At times she’s a know it all.

I think I may need the Internal Editor to come out of hiding and beat this character down. The only problem with that is then I may not get the Internal Editor to leave. She’s a pushy one.

Life keeps passing me by. I slog through the mundane, the routine of daily living, and suddenly so much time has passed and I have so little to show for it. Take this October, for instance. Early in the month, Jake got sick, then Anna did, then I did. Among the three of us the whole month consisted of trips to the doctor and the CVS and coughing, coughing, coughing.

I did my job. I took care of my babies. I kept the house from completely falling into disrepair. But November came and all I had were the basics, the undistinguished memories of one day flowing into the next.  I wanted to enjoy the falling leaves. And carving pumpkins. I wanted to drink some apple cider and take a hayride. I blinked and the moment was gone.

So here it is November, and I am trying to slow things down. But I don’t know if it’s possible to slow life down. I think that’s part of getting older. I remember how long the school day, the school year, felt when I was a kid. Now I feel like I’ve just dropped my kids off and school when I’m picking them up, and the school year is flying by.

November shall be savored.