I’ve been looking for a piece of information. A tiny piece of the layers and layers of notes I send myself, with typing fingers, pen and ink, and fervent hopes that what I commit to my Swiss cheese memory will stay with me until I need it.

The bit in question is a list of songs that played the soundtrack to a novel I watched unfold in my head as I wrote it. There were a bunch of them. I’m sure I burned a CD that I can’t find either. I can tell you where I put a cool white paper clip with black stripes that I tucked away years ago, but something I actually want, or, heaven forbid, need to find invariably sinks to the bottom of the La Brea Tar Pits of my life.

What I have found while looking for my list has been interesting, though. I keep notebooks in strategic places, so I can quickly jot down anything I think could prove useful to my writing, or just find interesting in general. Since I am interested in the world at large, there’s quite a variety in the two jam packed notebooks I’ve hit so far.

I found references to the Paris Gun and Big Bertha, gamma ray bursts, the psychopathy of serial killers, how to ovenroast veggies, the role soluble fiber plays in health, the finer points of Klingon diplomatic relations and Bajoran planetary geography, gruesome details of The Black Death, the bizarre nature of ergot poisoning, and a ridiculously long chronical of some of my favorite movies. 

A few poems I wrote at random times act as spacers between more tidbits that passed through my mind via TV news shows and documentaries. I even found song lyrics I tried to write (first and only attempt ever at that). That served as the mental theme for the very same novel’s main characters. Logic dictates the soundtrack list should be on the next few pages. Logic does not a powerful dictator make. Usually.

Still no list. I’ve remembered two of the songs. They’re by Nelly Furtado and Beth Orton. That’s something at least. I’m sure I’ll eventually find my elusive list. Most likely long after I really want to hear that particular playlist again.

It’s interesting at the moment to comb through the bits of data that flew through my brain at a given time, and was deemed worthy of being saved for future use. It’s reminded me how fascinating life really is, as well as how many ideas I have for things to write about.

If only a particular type of purple ink hadn’t bled through to obscure some page’s other sides. If only my hasty handwriting was not prone to degenerating into indistinguishable scribbles when I rush. If only I had fifty hours in every day, so I could be sure to write about every topic that interests me. Every topic and speck of information that forms the layers upon layers of ideas and information and dreams…the strata that leaves the Muse’s footprints across my life.