The Fantastic, the Strange and the Ridiculous.
You're crazy. Allow me to tell you, if you don't already know.
Writers are a confirmed bunch of crazy people. It's true. I've been told, so it must be. I don't mean the first dictionary definition of 1. deranged of mind. I prefer the next one down, 2. fantastic, strange and ridiculous.
Known to dive into crazy situations, we whisper crazy thoughts and hunt down crazy stuff. We sniff out the crazy in others and revel in their stories, mentally storing details to savour later in our scribbles.
It's all part of the job description, and none of us would be game to deny it.
We hear a delicious phrase and tuck it away for our good pleasure. Ponder the title of a book from a list of thoroughbreds about to race. Lose ourselves smelling fruit as we contemplate what best describes late autumn.
We visit places far from home to taste the wind. Just to get the crazy details right. Revisit childhood to unearth emotions only God can strengthen us to navigate again. And let the moon rise, hours after our beloveds have fallen asleep, to continue writing until dawn nudges the sky.
While others go about their normal day, we wander down a pathway no one else can see. We dawdle there, and find something crazy enough to share with the dear one we call reader. And smile as we emerge with yet one more crazy thought.
Last January, as my kids swam in the waters of Phillip Island, I stayed ashore, shivering in the absent summer. I would not play in frozen water... until a crazy thought occurred to me. I wonder what it feels like to step in fully clothed? The way a character might in a moment of despair.
So I waded into the shallows and let the foam of the sea pull at my skirt hem with icy tugs. Let the waves assault my goose flesh until the black fabric stuck to my knees. To my children's horror, I ventured deeper and watched as my clothes billowed under me to the sway of the sea.
I just wanted to know. To feel the sodden skirt as it clung to my skin as I stepped out. To watch as tiny streams of water dripped down my legs and sand stuck to my hem as it dragged along the pathway home. Hours later, I looked again, to see the dusty salt marks in the creases of my skirt.
It was crazy and it was fun. And it was part of whom I've now become. A gatherer of details and experiences. A crazy writer.
Are you a crazy writer? Game enough to share a time when some craziness beckoned in your writing pursuits?
And if you're too shy to admit a moment of craziness, remember crazy also means, 3. very good or excellent. Ask any teenager. They're crazy too!
Dorothy Adamek writes Historical Romance. Visit her at her blog Ink Dots.