Sometimes I’ll go through my notes to kind of catch up on what I’ve forgotten. I have a file called “Waiting Bay” for new ideas that are yet to be sorted or played around with. Problem is, I have terrible memory and apparently don’t like to help myself. Some of the files in there just have one line, which gives away enough that I can start somewhere, but other files just have names or a single line of dialogue and I have a feeling it was related to a dream I now can’t remember. It becomes something of a journey to figure out the story around the title and the contents. Sometimes—when past me is feeling extra masochistic—I’m just left with a folder. There’s not even a file in there, I just have a proposed title. Why.

It becomes a fun activity to try and figure out what it is/was, and sometimes it creates something new. Or it gets moved to the “Y Writing” file where everything that is kind of just fleeting thoughts and then forgotten until I go through that.

Sometimes, the notes of a writer are just weird scraps of our brains as stuff escapes.