writewithheart

I admit it. I have a dominant right-brain. I try to cover it up in public, but I’m a work-at-home freelancer, and I let it all hang out here. To the rescue is Get-It-Done Guy.

Yesterday I listened to his podcast, “How to Keep Track of Ideas.” Bernice and Melvin, wacky make-believe characters, LOVE sticky notes.  Random ideas plaster their cubicles, bathroom mirrors, and hallways.

I hear ya, Bernice.  You never know when a random idea is direct communication from the muse. That’s what a creative person lives for.

It’s fun to laugh at Bernice and Melvin, and they let me laugh at myself too. I’m infatuated with random ideas, but gun-shy of commitment. So today, I followed Get-It-Done Guy’s advice –launched a central idea file. I started a low-tech, loose-leaf notebook with one idea per page, so I can move them into alphabetical order. (Novel, huh?) I also created a central, good idea spreadsheet. Once a week, I’ll enter the ideas from the paper notebook into the electronic file. I’m going to keep this new practice very simple, so it doesn’t turn into an obsession (hopefully).

My goal is to commit to at least one good idea each day and move it one step forward.

I’ll keep you posted.

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When I was a small girl, I’d climb inside my shell when life got noisy and chaotic.

You know the drill. Fold your emotional arms around yourself, kneel on the floor, hide your face, and make your whole body into a headless turtle. That makes sense when you’re three years old.

But today, I’m working on starting this blog and drafting text for my web site. That old turtle shell still looks safe and homey. The little girl part of me wants to stay off the radar—hoard all my privacy. That way, I won’t need to own my own words in the big world of cyberspace.

Truth be told, though, addiction to a turtle shell sucks the life out of us. Ironic, huh? What we think is self-protecting actually nibbles away at us.  If we stay inside the turtle shell, we’ll turn into shriveled people who seek more and more isolation. When we try to save our own lives—cut off from God and community—we actually lose them.

So, today, I’m emerging. I suspect the day will come when I remember my shell and play inside it again. But, I’m also going to trust—just as I’m doing today—that emerging will always offer me a better chance at real life.


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