I pumped gas. I choked on my tears. I had an a-ha. I wanted to write about it, right away.
I tweeted "To tweet or not to tweet? For now that oddly comforting feeling of awareness will wait for an essay, a line of poetry, a scene."
I moved my car from the gas pumps into the parking area and started to take notes. I decided to write in third person – it was me but instead I became “she”.
My tears turned into small smiles as my finger floated across the screen, swyping words into my color note program on my smart phone.
A text popped in, “Is that you?”
I looked up and saw a friend pumping gas and texting.
“In the blue car?”
I laughed and responded, explained what I was doing. I was busted, caught, sighted
Even this morning – the day after - it makes me smile. I am sure the smiles and the texts and the notes will transform themselves into a story we will tell and retell when we find ourselves in a group of artsy friends.
When I finished swyping my notes, I didn’t move my car immediately. I sat there and let contentment wash over me. My thoughts rained on my overheated heart as I thought about this place I call home.
It is not someplace I chose. It is not someplace I want to stay. But when someone I know catches me writing poetry in a gas station parking lot and is kind enough to not interrupt my creative process and to save the laughs for later?
This reminds me it is a perfectly fine place to stay for now.
Please stay in touch: Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
And naturally, on Pinterest, too!