Writing these last days has really queued up a list of things I want to write about. I get dizzy thinking of all the things I’d like to put on the page. Driving is a good incubator for these ideas. I start to breathe a little heavier when I fear that all my brilliant explications and ideas might evaporate before I can takes notes. I get even more anxious when I realize I can’t reach my purse to engage Siri for dictation.
You’ve probably had stellar writing thoughts at some point that you couldn’t recall later. Frustrating. You can probably relate.
One of the many things I like to imagine is what I would name a book. I’ve tried out lots of book names. Before there is even a scratch on the paper or a story line – I’ve got a great title. Do people have jobs in which their sole responsibility is to come up with catchy or significant titles?
The company that makes the nail polish brand OPI has the cleverest names for their colors. Don’t Socrates Me is my favorite coral polish that they make. I heard once that the company had a department devoted to naming the colors – and the department was made up of all males.
Terry Tempest Williams’ book is called When Women Were Birds. What a mysterious name! It sounds like it might be misogynistic if displayed next to the Odyssey on a book shelf. Context could really mess up a good title.
I suppose if one gets a bit too clever or cute, one’s book might just get ignored or worse, be mistaken for being insipid. I suppose the thing is to lift a phrase right from the text that encapsulates the point.
One of my favorite titles was Joan Didion’s The Year Of Magical Thinking – which was her memoir on the year after her husband John died. What really caught me about this title was the way the title was laid out on the cover.If you look closely, you’ll see John’s name.
It is intentional that I choose to name each of my posts by simply calling it by the Day of the countdown. The point of all this daily writing practice is to write – not to spend my time engineering fabulous titles for writing that doesn’t exist. My daughter is assisting me by waving her pomoms for me, too. She sent me this from her Google Reader:
Father Joe told me to write everyday – even if it’s just a little – even if I don’t understand where I’m going – even if it doesn’t make any sense – even if . . .