Inspiration

As someone who has been writing for a very long time, the subject of what inspires my writing can be fickle at best.

It is in images, for the most part, photographs or real-life snapshots of the mind. People, in general, inspire me. I am moving away from the barrage of videos that are so prevalent on social media, posted to trigger, to create a thirst trap. Or, in my case, to drop an infernal musical earworm into my daily narrative. “Mommy doesn’t know Daddy’s getting hot, at the bodyshop, doing something unholy,” is my current one. (Sorry if I just planted that in your mind.)

For someone like myself, neurodivergent from the git-go, I love this. It’s like Google on the brain, a constant resource rebuilding itself, minute by minute. A torrent of sounds and images, memories, and, for my horror fiction, fear triggers. It will be the one thing I miss the most as I grow older. Still, I am comforted, anticipating that memories will remain the longest.

After I’ve said something provocatively and seen the raised eyebrows, I’ve often told people, “You should try living in my brain.” They take it as a plea for understanding, but it’s more of a lofty, slightly superior “bet you wish you were me,” than a bid for sympathy. I love it. My mind has made me laugh out loud, amused at some inside joke only my brain and I truly get. It’s what makes me seek isolation. In quieting the world’s noise, remembering my reality view is unique and particular only to me. I toss some of that product across a page and see many others like me in the virtual world. There is a connection with the Reader.

The writing prompts, what if, what scares me, what kicks me up a notch, what sombers my soul, are the basis for all my writing.

Why do we click that video with the provocative headline if not to be affected? We are all looking for a reaction within ourselves when bombarded with pain and revolution, shock and awe. We want to feel something.

We should be careful what we wish for.