Today's poster quote says "I'm always writing a story in my head." For a multitude of writers, this sentence rings true.
If not a story swirling in your mind, it could be the first lines of a poem, or the bones of a personal essay. You might be recalling a family story that won't leave your mind. When this 'writing in your head' continues for more than a day, it's time you pay attention and start writing on paper or a screen. Wait too long, and the whole thing could disappear into the mist of everyday life.
I sold a narrative poem to Boys' Quest magazine some years ago. The first two lines popped into my head while I was watching tv one evening. I don't remember if the show I was watching inspired the words or not. But the two lines kept repeating in my mind like an acrobat doing one somersault after another. I did nothing about it that night, but the next day, when the lines still bounced around in my head, I sat down and typed:
Ling Po had a ginger colored cat,
not a very pretty one at that.
My fingers continued to hit the keys, and a lengthy narrative poem resulted. A first draft, of course. I worked on it for a few more days, off and on, then sent it to Boys' Quest magazine. They accepted it, much to my joy, but--and it was a big but--it would not be published in the magazine for 6 years. They told me that right up front. I accepted their terms, and sure enough, six years later "Chinatown Cat" appeared with lovely illustrations, and a check was sent to me.
If I had not written that first draft the next day, those lines would have eventually become lost. A mind can hold only so much. That saying, 'out with the old, in with the new' could apply here. When you have the beginnings of a story or a couple lines of a poem running through your mind, pay attention and do something about it. Even if all you do is jot down some notes to act as a reminder when you're ready to write.
Consider those story ideas, or first lines in your mind as a gift. You've been given a beginning, but it's up to you to open the gift and expand upon it.
In case you would like to see the full poem that resulted from those initial lines that dipped and swayed in my mind, I have included it below. It was meant for middle-grade children.
Chinatown Cat
Ling Po had a ginger-colored cat,
not a very pretty one at that.
Near a window he oft slept by day.
Nights he went out and far away.
Where in Chinatown did he go?
Ling Po really wanted to know.
Night after night Cat went
as if on a mission he’d been sent.
One warm and moonlit night,
Ling Po followed on Cat’s right.
Cat slid by cans for trash,
then Ling Po padded softly past.
He stayed a bit behind,
while Cat continued down the line.
Cat didn’t even seem to slow
when sirens began to blow.
On through dark and eerie streets,
Master and pet moved on silent feet.
Farther and farther, past store upon store.
Ling Po could not take much more!
Now, beyond temple and pagoda.
This Chinatown boy needed a soda.
Then, Cat stopped, looked all around
and crouched down close to the ground.
He lay there, green eyes peering
at an ancient man now nearing.
“There you are, my friend,” he fretted
“Come close to be petted.
Ling Po waited behind a car.
Was this the reason they’d come so far?
The Old One bent, pigtail swinging,
from Cat’s throat, a purr like singing.
Now Cat belonged to the pair,
for Ling Po knew he would share.
This cat who loved both young and old
was surely worth his weight in gold.
With patience, Ling Po watched the two,
no more than that could he do
until Cat turned to take his leave
and Ling Po followed him home with relief.
--Nancy Julien Kopp
Note: This narrative poem was published in Boys’ Quest magazine in June 2004
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