Just Let Me Jot That Down

My writing got a little sidetracked this past week because I had to organize my notes.  I simply had to.  Or go mad.

I make lots and lots of notes to help me remember something to do with my writing.  A snatch of conversation, a little stage direction, an entire scene that doesn’t come until later or even just a simple phrase.  Some of my notes are on little pieces of paper, some are on foolscap in a binder, some in a file (or two or three) on the computer.

Usually I just make notes on my current wip, but occasionally it’s a reminder to fix something in a story I’ve already written or an idea I may one day write about.  Often it’s a bit of inspiration I don’t want to forget.

Eventually it all becomes too ungainly and I can’t find what I’m looking for.  That’s what happened this week.  It was precipitated when Hubby, being useful, rearranged my desk for me.  Bad enough that I now don’t know where things are in the drawers, he took all the scraps of paper and put them in one tidy pile with a clip.  I really, really don’t like my notes being touched.  Just ask the new lady at the office.

I haven’t finished the job, but I’m organized enough to satisfy my obsessive/compulsive side.  And I’ve promised myself that as soon as this wip is done, all the notes and little snippets of deleted scenes I continue to hang onto (just in case it might come in handy one day) will be properly stored in computer files.

Oh, I’ll always and forever have stuff chicken-scratched on note pads—at my age you get that idea down fast before it’s gone—but no more having all these different formats to wade through.  And surely, some can be deleted once and for all.

Meanwhile, tomorrow I write.

This past week I wrote 2895 words and my wip stands at 38,555 words.

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