My mind is always filled to overflowing with stories. However, ideas tend to get crammed into the nooks and crannies of my brain, or stacked in a pile as they wait to be filed away in the correct mental file cabinet.
To make things even more challenging, I have characters that roam around up there. Some of them tiptoe through the mayhem and try not to gape. But others are a lot more nosy. They have to poke a stick at something that catches their interest, which makes something else topple over, which crashes into yet another pile of ideas. . .
It's a good thing. I think. I'm pretty sure. I mean, that's how crazy notions manage to get their start. Although I do wonder what it would be like if I had a brain that was neat and tidy, with row after row of labeled, organized ideas, and scenes, and heck, whole manuscripts in their proper place.
Actually it might frighten me to see it like that. It wouldn't feel like me. It would definitely seem like I'd been transplanted into someone else's brain. (You can see another story idea forming, can't you?)
I envy non-writers, since I imagine their brains are wide open and spacious, with plenty of room for new stuff to be imported. The best I can do to achieve that status is to keep pouring my stories out, in an attempt to make room for new ones.
Unfortunately, with new stories comes new secondary characters, and they move in with no plan to move back out. And somehow they have friends I didn't know about when I said, "Sure, stay for a few days. There's plenty of room."
Next thing you know I'm running a day care center for stray characters. And all their baggage, and everything they need to go through to stretch and grow and move on to their HEA.
It's a giant playground up there, filled with a multitude of fascinating heroes and heroines. I don't want to be a cranky hall monitor, so they've learned to keep the noise down while I'm sleeping. But as soon as I'm awake, it's fair game. Unless they have other plans of course, which they frequently do, and I'm the last to know about it.
Still, I wouldn't have it any other way. I've grown accustomed to wandering through my brain, shushing one batch of characters, and drawing out another group that is unnecessarily quiet. When I write their stories, it ends up being a veritable scrapbook of where they've been, and where their hopes and dreams led them.
Too soon, before I'm quite ready, they're gone, and it's difficult to get used to the silence they've left behind.
All of a sudden I'm thinking, "You know, if I move that idea over there, and stack this with these others, there would be plenty of room for that new group of characters. . ."