I find inspiration everywhere: books, newspapers, overhearing people’s conversations. My own mind. I’ve never been short on ideas because everything and anything is always up for grabs.
I stayed in Scotland for a few months after I got my first master’s degree and I had just experienced the Fringe festival (as a critic). I was doubting all my plans to become a serious academic and the only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted to be back in the States again. I got a job in one of the offices for a few weeks and ended up being so distracted, late and unfocused as a typist that I was demoted to recycle-bin paper sorter. Like, green goes in this pile and yellow in that pile. To make matters worse, all of my former co-workers, knowing that I was a Harvard alum, assumed that I had been promoted to something fancier and better paying, and took it out on me by not sitting with me during lunch. I remember drinking heavily.
I’d be teaching. Which I do anyway. I like teaching.
Oh no. I’m not going to take over the universe.
I think there are very healthy reasons to stop writing and am learning to be the type of writer who doesn’t get bent all out of shape about it. Like, if a friend is in town. Or serious grief about very sad things. Or constipation. Or the need to sit and think and figure out a thing before you plow ahead. There are times when not writing for a brief while would have been better for my work than writing. When one needs to catch up on sleep and sunshine and get lots of hugs. Then, after all that stuff is attended to, the work starts to feel like play again.
Bonus Question: How do you measure, measure a year?
How about LOOOOOOOOOVVEEEEEEEEE!