Friday, January 30, 2004

Self-Denial

I had to get another little notebook.  The one I had, where at least a dozen valuable ideas and phone numbers were mouldering, waiting for me to switch them to a more permanent home, are lost.  I think I put it down when I was shopping for a camera, and I never picked it up again.  I’ve spent two weeks waiting for it to resurface, in case it was just in my coat pocket or under the sofa or something, but I couldn’t wait any longer.  Here’s why:

I’d been realizing that I hadn’t written any good fiction - any fiction, period - for a long time.  And as I realized this, at the princess party last weekend, surrounded by 4 year old girls and their tipsy and pork-addled parents, I had a great, great, great idea for a story.  No need to write it down, even if I hadn’t lost my notebook - an idea this good will automatically stick to the inside of my head. 

You can see this one coming, can’t you?  I have no idea what that story was about now.  No clue.  No setting, no theme, no sense of character - though I’m pretty sure there were only two of them… in frustration, I got a new notebook today for those special ideas that will only come to me when I lack the wherewithal to write them down.  But by way of making it up to you, let me share the one idea that did stick to my meninges while I was at the party:

I had been gorging and grazing with impugnity, stuffing myself at both the kids’ and adults’ tables.  A smoked pork-shoulder sandwich… a little pbj sandwich with the crusts cut off… some cole slaw.... then a cupcake… and back and forth for several hours.  At one point someone brushed past me to grab another little egg salad sandwich.  They seemed to be going like hotcakes (although no actual hotcakes were on the table for a comparative analysis).  However, this particular egg-salad-sandwich-eater feelingly told me, “these are really good.  You should have one, right away.”

I looked at the mound of little sandwiches with their smeary yellow filling, and at the other kinds of sandwiches and the other condiments, comestibles and sweetmeats piled on the groaning board.  I was feeling full and, frankly, my cholesterol doesn’t need any help in getting elevated (that’s right, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree).  I finished chewing whatever I’d stuffed in my mouth and replied, “I can’t deny myself much - but I can deny myself egg salad.”

Words to live by, for the next few days at least.  If I think of any more, I’ve got a snazzy new yellow notebook wherein to inscribe them.  For the record, I’ll be spending a nice chunk of my weekend programming my phone, so if I’m supposed to have your phone number or you’d just prefer if I did, email me.  If not, well, I didn’t want your stupid phone number anyway.  I’ll just sit in the dark and grouse.  (Not in a darkened grouse.  That would be very confining.  And what’s the plural of grouse - grice?  Greese?  To hell with it.  Have a happy weekend and don’t forget to tell me all about it.)