Last October, while driving through Tennessee I passed road signs, many signs. Most, I ignored, including speed limits. Then one sign stood out. It was green, like most signs and showcased the name ‘Birdsong.’ I don’t know what Birdsong in Tennessee is; a park, a town, a road. The name ‘Birdsong’ stuck in my head.
Come January it’s still there. Should I do something with it? I certainly can’t let it go; or rather it won’t let go.
January 9th, a Tuesday I had to drive to Austin. I love driving and the route to Austin from the Piney Woods goes from one small town to another. It’s easy to see history and character.
That Tuesday, before I got to the end of my street, something happened. I don’t know how or why, but “Birdsong” characters flooded into my head.
“Birdsong” was, perhaps still is, a street in Marshall; a fictitious street with a handful of dysfunctional families. The street told me all about the people who lived there. Their stories were incredible, some sad, some not so much. An obnoxious attorney who insisted on calling has son “Junior,” a cripple from the Korean war, descendants from a Boogie Woogie family, and conflicts galore. Civil rights, a Supreme Court Case, questionable relationships; the stories flowed like the St. Lawrence into my head.
Several hours and many miles slipped by with nothing but the “Birdsong Street” book streaming through my head. Fortunately, I was conscious enough to drive safely and realize the euphoria would end.
A moment after that reality flashed my cell phone rang. I jumped.
It was a family emergency requiring my attention. But I was two hundred miles away and still not to Austin. I called my husband; he covered my ass, so I kept driving.
A deep breath.
Ten seconds later my cell phone rang again.
” How many pages is the ‘Fletcher’ book?”
“I don’t know.”
I could hear the screech in my ears; a really loud screech.
Euphoria gone. Flood gates from my creative heaven slammed shut. That’s OK. The next project was in my possession. I just need to fill in details. Thanks.