Head in the Clouds

Recapturing my imagination.

As a kid, I once heard that you should always be able to look up at the clouds in the sky and see pictures within those shapes. This one’s a duck, that one’s a pirate ship. If you look at a cloud and cannot find the hidden picture within, well, that just means you do not have an imagination.

And of course, as a young writer who loved spinning tales and dreaming up characters, this terrified me. My imagination was my most prized possession. Could it disappear that easily???

It’s funny how now, all these years later, I’ll find my gaze drifting towards the sky, staring at clouds, searching for hidden pictures.

To be honest, one of the biggest struggles I face as a writer is feeling like my imagination is not enough. It’s a ridiculous notion, but there it is. I’ve met and befriended many writers over the years, and as far as I know, no one else pits their imagination up against others. I constantly find myself becoming all *heart-eyed* when I read my friends’ short stories or books, blown away by how they can come up with such incredible ideas, and it’s easy to look at my own stories and simply say, “Welp.”

But in 2024, I am going to be solutions-oriented! I’m done moaning about problems, I’m turning towards solutions instead!

Example: A few weeks ago, I was overcome with major self-doubt after a particularly rough critique session of a new story I wrote and (naively) loved. My solution? Go to the cute craft store and buy writer earrings. Problem solved!!!!!

I’m only partially kidding (although it did make me feel better). While I was in that craft store, I also bought a small pocket-size journal.

🎶 Isn't she lovelyyyy 🎶

It matched my new earrings, yes, but the real reason I bought this journal was because I remember reading Bird by Bird a year ago and being struck by the idea that Anne Lamott always carried index cards around with her. If I recall correctly, she said she would write down anything — story ideas, quotes friends said, a word she likes, a memory. One of my favorites that she shared is this, dated 9-17-93:

“Sam [Anne’s young son] and I walked Bill and Adair up to their car after dinner. Crisp cold starry night. Bill, holding Sam, inhaled deeply. “Doesn’t it smell wonderful, Sam?” he said. Sam inhaled deeply, too, like he was smelling a delicious meal, looked off into space, and said, “It smells like moon.”

I remember reading that for the first time and tearing up. A small simple memory, preserved. Anne wrote that she never used it in her writing (although technically she did for Bird by Bird), but she knew it would never be lost.

As kid-Paige looked up to the clouds to test her imagination, adult-Paige must put her eyes down and look all around her. I should be able to find inspiration everywhere. Snippets of words overheard from a passerby, lines in a book that make me pause, jokes that make me laugh, strangers on the bus/tram/train that appear as if they’ve stepped off the pages of a novel. This is my attempt at recapturing my imagination and trying to make sense of this messy and beautiful world.

I have no idea if it will work. But now that I’m the owner of super cute pencil & notebook earrings, I must go about the world with my own pencil and notebook. (See, I knew this purchase was worth it.)

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Here are some of the notes that Cloud captured from February 1 - February 7 (Oh yeah, I named my notebook Cloud as a homage, naturally):

• “I know it’s in your heart, but it’s not yet on the page.” -QWERTY podcast, what a beautiful way to give criticism

• Allison K. William’s 7 Drafts

  • 1: The Vomit Draft

  • 2: The Story Draft

  • 3: The Character Draft

  • 4: The Technical Draft

  • 5: The Personal Copy Edit

  • 6: The Friend Read

  • 7: The Editor Read

• “The point is that I reek of money, and you love the scent of it.” -Wasp by Eric Frank Russell

• 2.2.24: On the way to the tram stop, I walk behind a father and son. The father pushes a stroller, carrying his toddler in his arms. The toddler wears his hood up. It’s lined with fur, circling his face, a little cub. He looks directly at me and raises a hand. Waves. I do the same. He breaks out in a toothy smile. All of this happens without the father’s knowledge. Does he know how happy this little boy has made me, how he has melted my heart, on my morning walk to the tram?

• 2.2.24: The tram operators greet each other as they cross paths, heading in opposite directions. Wave, thumbs up. Wave, thumbs up. My driver does it 6 times throughout my short ride. I wonder: Is this part of the job? And if it is: Do they realize how sweet that is?

• 2.3.24: Erik’s coworker tells us about how his mom bought him a very, very small piece of land in Scotland for his birthday, presumably as a joke. “So technically, I’m a Lord,” he says. “And I’m a Lady,” his wife says without missing a beat.

• 2.4.24: A man (40s? 50s?) was hopping on some concrete blocks (parkour style) on his way up the street, a grin on his face, the freedom of feeling weightless. A few minutes later, I pass a child hopping around, energy spilling out of him. When does that stop? When do we feel we need to calm down, behave, walk normally, fit in? That adult man had something special. The ability to feel like he wanted to do something and follow that inner voice, the way we did when we were kids. I can still see his grin in my mind.

• 2.5.24: Two women walk in front of me. The one slows, crumples, her curly hair hiding her face. Her friend is there to catch her. She wraps her arms around her friend, bringing her to her shoulder. “Let it out, let it out,” she coos in a low voice, and as I pass, I feel strangely soothed.

• 2.6.24: Long to belong.

• 2.6.24: THAT FEELING when you’re in a group of people and someone says something a little ~off~ and you look at another person, and they’re looking at you, and you’re both thinking the same. exact. thing. What I love the most about that is you chose them and they chose you, on some subconscious level, to be that person in that moment. To relieve them of the crazy, to bring them back to Earth. I love that moment. I wish I could bottle it up.

• 2.7.24: Today a sweet old man sat on the tram with his sweet old dog. A stranger got on the stop. The dog looked at the stranger. The stranger looked at the dog. (I looked at them both.) For about 15 seconds they stared, unsure what the other would do. Then the dog stepped forward and angled his head down. The man smiled and pet him. All was right with the world.