POP!

I fell asleep in Baby Girl's comfy queen-sized bed last night as we talked about our day. Woke up, like I always do, before the alarm went off. And when I woke up, I had an entire scene pop into my head for a book . . . that until then had only been a kernel. Not just a scene, but dialogue and character names, setting, the whole nine yards. Other people wake up and maybe stumble to the coffee pot, I shut my eyes and "wrote" it all down in my head. Pausing the action once in a while to change a name, or add a detail. Within ten minutes, I knew where the book was going, how it would end. I even had the title.

But here's the thing . . . this has been a book I have been scribbling in my Daytimer for months now. See, I am a dinosaur. I have not yet gone over to one of THESE. Instead . . . . I keep a Daytimer. And each week, I write down all the titles of all the unwritten books and ideas I want to get to eventually. Most have titles. This kernel of an idea was just that. A scribbled word. As a writer, as an editor, I knew SOMETHING was there. I just wasn't sure WHAT. The kernel was nothing more than a single character answering an unusual want ad. That was it. I knew what the ad said. Knew who the character was (what she did for a living). I didn't even QUITE know who placed the ad.

Weeks went on. Dutifully, I kept writing "WANT AD" on my Daytimer. Nothing more would come to me. No names. No faces, really. Just . . . a firm hunch the idea would pan out. Maybe now, maybe a year from now.

And then this morning. Voila. Names, characters, one-liners, dialogue, and . . . finally . . . the man who placed the want ad. Then a book structure took form. WHY the man placed the ad, and WHY he won't even show his face to the woman who answers the ad. Where he lives, what furniture he has. His piano, even. Who works for him. Tapes and movies he gives to the woman. Why there are no pictures in his house. I don't want to give a single thing away because there is a really, really cool hook, so I'll leave that be as far as the blog.

But the kernel is now an unwritten book. I don't outline, so basically, I start at the opening line . . . and write until it's done. Easy, right?

Now, I wish I knew why some kernels pop . . . and some never do. THAT, I suppose is one of the mysteries of the universe, or at least my brain. Why do you get a bag of microwave popcorn . . . and some kernels just sit there, stubbornly refusing to pop at the bottom of the bag. I don't know. But this one popped.

So that's my idea process. How about yours? Do some things pop like that? Or do you have old kernels in the bottom of your bag that simply refuse?