I‘m about to dive deep into the writing of the first draft of the next book in the New Royal Mysteries series (the title is still hush-hush), and the ideas are coming fast, almost too fast. I usually depend on my partner to keep track of the random ones that come to me at night while we’re watching TV before dropping off to sleep, but it looks like I finally crossed the line.
We’d already turned out the light, when I said, “Hey, remind me that I want my main character to go on a rant about the potential of artificial intelligence in investigations to spell the end of the ‘dedicated /lucky detective’ trope . . .”
Normally, my partner would say something like, “Okay: Rant, AI, Lucky Detective,” and then come morning, repeat that back to me. But this time he said, kinda loudish, “Damn it, Laura. I was already asleep!”
Oops. Sleep is a sacred thing in our house, especially since the cats like to wake the dogs at dawn. Since then, I’ve been trying to be a bit more self-reliant, and pathetically, I now keep a pad and pen on my nightstand—like <shudder> one of those people who keep dream journals.
I’m not sure it’s a good solution, because jotting down my thoughts requires hand-eye coordination, and the ideas often come after I’ve taken my glasses off. So why not put my glasses back on? Because the sound of doing so makes the dogs think it’s breakfast time.
What I need, until my partner forgives, is a plot Dobby.
The ideal plot Dobby would
Sit at the head of my bed until I drift off to sleep
Not scare anyone while doing the above
Take notes that translate my garbled BS into elegant poetry
Refrain from arguing/asking for explanations
Update my whiteboard
DJ my writing sessions
Scratch the dogs when I’m leaning into hour three of a writing session
Scoop the litter pans
Totally buy into the notion of experience as compensation
Change colors as I get closer to my word quota, with different transitions every day. I would also consider a slow morph into a slice of Singing Sam’s deep pizza, but that would be for a single-use, time-traveling dobby, since Sam’s closed years ago. Seems a little wasteful.
If this seems like the job for you, print out your resume, fold it into a paper airplane, and sail it into my headspace. We’ll try a skype interview while I nap, see how it goes . . .