I carry a couple field notebooks with me to collect ideas, jot down something I notice or to remind myself of a good line to place in a piece later. My notebooks fill up much slower these days, since the pandemic touched every part of our lives. There's only so much I can jot down about what I see from my window or yard.
I do get out for my daily walk through Stewart Park with my dogs, where I use my phone to take notes.
All I have to do is say, "Siri, take a note." She doesn't always get the message or word right, and sometimes the message is utterly lost in translation. I wonder what I meant by "the carrot spoke in rhymes." Later then, when I give myself an hour or so, I take out my field notebooks and notes to Siri and place them somewhere. Most of them have a place to go: my journal, a blog, into a poem, a manuscript, or a note to someone. Some are a start to an article or possible project.
As I walk a familiar but changing path through the park, ideas arrive as invitations into another conversation.
Here is what I found on Siri of late:
She wears her unhappiness like a tight skin.
Our abandonment anxiety plays out in the present in ways that it first showed up in the past.
We never know where the story might take us, that's why we allow it to take us where it will.
Fascination comes with a realization, but then we must release the fascination and live the realization, otherwise it becomes a fascination with a moment that has passed.
(idea for my novel): She feels her power through the connecting tissue in the earth and she needs to do that to rejuvenate, to reconnect she can't go without connecting like that, so she has to make sure she's in a nature a lot, like all of us. So, that's one way for the bad guys to weaken her is to get her in a room of concrete.
Those who can't lead, divide.
I don't know because I wonder.
Let the light break me open like a bud.