Friends sent this video link.
They've connected things, set one thing in motion with another, setting off an odd series of fascinating actions and responses. I guess we can call it toppling.
You used to see these sort of things with dominos toppling over. It still goes on. There are world championships and of course, records.
But watching the toppling video, it reminded me of my brain's mechanism. It seems to have the same kinetic effect of one thing triggering other things in motion.
All this came to head as I walked today. I was walking along, thinking over story ideas and characters, work, the day's beauty and today's plans and so on, when suddenly an opening paragraph took off in my head.
Such an energizing moment. I rushed to the coffee shop, got in, pulled out pen and paper, jotted it down, then ordered. Once coffee was in hand and in mouth and the laptop was alive, I typed in that opening. Then more arrived. But why did that happen? I wondered, looking for answers in characters, plots and motivations.
The story's opening:
Cold stole into the room past the sunlit window and summer's burning breezes. Zemuel inhaled deeply. The cold could only be death. He seized his father's hand more tightly. The hands, once so large he held five baseballs at once, a photo of it down in the living room, hands so large he palmed basketballs and cantelopes without challenge, seemed small and curled, like dead black spider legs.
His father shifted his gaze to Zemuel. "You're there," he said. "Good."
"I'm here, Dad." Zemuel squeezed his father's hand hard and looked for the other one.
"I can't feel you any longer. You're there, at the end of a long tunnel. I can just see you. You're so far away. You look so small."
The door opened behind Zemuel. He looked back. Petite, black-haired, never aging Katherine Gregor slipped in. She was usually smiling. Today she was not.
"I am about to die," Zemuel's father said. "So I want you to remember this. Always have many and varied potato recipes."
Katherine Gregor gasped behind Zemuel. "No," she hissed. "Not again."
"What?" Zemuel asked his father.
But the old man was no longer breathing.
The room grew colder. Ice rose across Zemuel's hands and arms. Dropping his father's hand, Zemuel stepped back as crackling ice spread around the room. His father's body lifted off of the bed.
Afraid as he'd never been, Zemuel staggered back toward the door. It was open and Katherine Gregor was gone.
Several more pages were written today. It was a lot of fun.
I thought Katherine Gregor would want to know.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com