I have an antique typewriter from the last century, (still feels weird sometimes to say that) circa 1940′s, that belonged to my grandfather. Inside the lid is a taped quote from a magazine that inspired him. He was a writer in bud, I guess, although I never saw anything he might have written. I didn’t see him enough to ever ask him about it, and by the time I inherited the typewriter, he was gone. It is a very cool typewriter, and looks just like one you see in the old movies about driven writers, and chaotic newspaper rooms. I see a rugged looking man, with stubble on his face, mussed hair, and rolled up sleeves typing furiously. No really, he’s sitting there now, and I was about to bring him a sandwich and some coffee in my high-waisted, Hollywood pants, muss his hair some more, smile fondly at him, and slip quietly out the door, after a short exchange of clever banter, of course.
This past week, I have written so much that time has become elastic. I arise around eight am, sit down in my tee shirt and no pants, and promise myself that I am just going to check my email, and post a link. Before you know it, it is 3 pm and I haven’t had a bath, and am still in my tee shirt. My tee shirt covers me, but only just. Good thing my family doesn’t mind sitting in chairs after me.
I haven’t been able to sleep very well, either. I never expected this symptom to manifest itself from the writing bug. Or, should I say, the riding bug? It certainly seems to ride the writer, sometimes. An article will form itself from an idea, almost as if it is coming to me whole from outside myself. A title will appear above it, as if from a fog machine in a dream sequence, ala Hollywood again, and before you know it, I am tossing and turning, hoping the inspiration won’t fade before morning. I should just get up and write it, but then I’d never get any sleep. On a side note: would we have any frame of reference without Hollywood?
I was censored in a Pan Am forum by a silly woman, (see Pan Am And The Mot Juste), and eventually banned, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me. I took all the memories of Pan Am the forum had stirred up, and started writing about my own experiences. If I was still in the crew party forum, I’d be diluting and distributing them there, never thinking to write about them more fully on my blog. This is an excellent example of making lemonade, etc. I am underemployed for at least another month, stuck inside during the dog days of a Vegas summer, and enjoying the heck out of my freedom to be stuck in a chair, typing. I feel like I am in a Twilight Zone episode; the woman’s wish comes true, and she gets to write, but is forever doomed to sit in a chair at her computer… You know the rest. All the episodes were pretty much the same. Life appears to be one thing, and is another. Only in this case, it really is what it seems. I really love writing. Rod Serling is going to do something to me, though. I just know it.