If you venture into a writer's mind, you may be overwhelmed by what you see. Don't expect to see little filing cabinets of ideas, organized by title or color and a decimal system. Don't expect a library of potential books, showing the evolution of the writer's ideas.
Expect chaos.
Yeah, a writer's mind is a little bit out there. Imagine going into a person's room after he or she lost the one page of homework, was looking for headphones, or was trying to find the one shirt that the writer could've sworn was in the first drawer he or she tore through. The desk is a mess, the bedding is in a ball, and the clothing from the closet and drawers are on the floor.
That's what it's like when a writer loses track of the ideas. It's messy for a while. All the clothing - other ideas from other stories - are mixing, trying to tempt the writer to clean it first; place it in a safe place, keeping a space in the closet, or the writer's psyche.
However, when a writer is searching for inspiration, he or she may leave the room dirty for a while, trip over the thoughts that fly through the brain, let the thoughts bounce off different lobes until, maybe, they hit a bullseye.
The desk of the writer's mind is piled high with blank notebooks. Maybe one is halfway full. Something has been written in stone, but all that blank space is ready for more. Sometimes the text cannot go on, and the writer's mind feels completely filled. However, all those notebooks bought at Staples or Papyrus provide more space than anyone could ever take up. Except for the writer.
The writer can fill up the mind.
There are paintings in the room, showing the setting of the writer's stories: a castle, a baseball field, a lake, etc. They are detailed and sketched out by a true artist, the characteristics only being understood by the one who created them. They litter the ceiling and walls, and the writer wishes for the settings to be tattooed on his or her skin.
But there are holes between the drawings, and that's where the post-its are. Many full pads litter the nightstand, next to a pen mountain. They are sayings from other writers, hangman games for writer's block, and even the writer's own quotes that he or she knows can change the world. For every bland spot, there is a beautiful saying covering it, giving it a part in the chaotic room of a writer's mind.
There is only one thing that doesn't move. Below the ever dim light on the writer's nightstand, between the pens and post its, there's a family picture. The writer stands in the middle of the pack, smiling from ear to ear, eyes surprised but bright with complete awe.
The people around the writer...they're the characters. Big or small. Boy or girl. Black or white. They stand united, happily made by the crazy person central to them all. They are laughing and yelling, doing the things the writer loves about them the most. No one's posing, but being the people the writer sometimes wishes he or she can be. They are framed and constant in the mess of their creator's head. They are at home, next to the writer at all times.
The room is peaceful because of them. The room is peaceful because of it all.
