Yesterday I was awake early and my windows were  open as a persistent and melodious birdsong  wafted in. It  was the false dawn. I’ve long been intrigued by this word pair because not only is it the liminal light that precedes dawn, but it also describes a promising situation that doesn’t come to fruition.

The moon had set and emerging in the east was the false dawn.

The lovers’ promises came to nothing, a false dawn. 

The birds sang their hearts out about half an hour before dawn. But then they went silent until the sun roses when they resumed their tunes. Males do most of the singing across the many species. Have you noticed how bright and loud their songs are in the early hours? This is from Kendra Cherry’s great article at childrensmuseum.org: And their singing isn’t always about keeping their rivals out of their territory, sometimes its  to bring potential mates into it. Scientists have found that birds songs are most clear in the morning, so it’s a great time for a bachelor bird to flex his pipes and show off his unique tone in hopes of attracting a female.

Fascinating, right? Didn’t you adore the writer’s use of bachelor? Like a little jolt of pleasure? Flex his pipes is fun too.  And might I suggest you check out the various meanings of bachelor? I didn’t know it also meant a young knight who serves under the banner of another, did you? But don’t all knights serve under a banner? Have you noticed when you read knight an immediate image came into your mind? I call it the inner movie screen.

This is the Knight of Swords from the Rider-Waite tarot deck–a fascinating, impactful fellow.

As a writer do you notice the world’s quirks and oddities, large and small fascinations? What do you do with these noticings or  wonderings? I keep ideas and gatherings in several places–notebooks, apps on my phone, iPad, and MacBook Air along with a commonplace book on my laptop. Then there are jottings scattered aound on the backs of envelopes and Post-it notes. I lassoo them from time to time so they’re permanently entered into a notebook or commplace book. My comnonplace books cover a season so I’ve recently begun adding gatherings to the Summer 2024 document.

I’ve buttonholed online links in my commplace books, and speaking of buttonholing, I’ve noted the word, and added defintions in my own terms. Why use words like buttonhole? Because a reader can see it, experience it. One person forcing another person to listen. Imagine one person grabbing another to delay a companion. Picture the person leaning into the detainee. This implies importance, doesn’t it? As in hey, wait a minute, I’ve got something important to tell you.

As I write this I’m imagining the crowded hallways of the nation’s capital as Congress threads out from sessions to be greeted by reporters grabbing at them for comment. It’s often a noisy gaggle of media jostling in the soaring, marble-lined hallways.  Though the reporter isn’t literally snagging a lawmaker’s suit jacket or elbow to grab their attention, the reporter’s loud question, armed with microphone and cameraperson create the buttonholing.

A few sentences back I’ve used buttonholed to mean capture on a page. Because wordslinging means playing with meaning, sleight of hand manuevers, and just having fun on the page or in speech. Oh, and I just added dungeon vibe to my commonplace book.

Because capture we must. Your writer’s notebook isn’t a place for grocery or to-do lists, though I encourage you to write down your dreams.

But remember, these captures aren’t a final resting place. Ponder. Review.  Get inspired. Use  word captures in your writing.  Create lists. I’ve got lists called Power Words. They’re not only for immediately use, but I’m also collecting them for a book I’m writing about language.

Follow your curiousity. Research birds’ habits at the false dawn. Or how a steam locomotive works. Or a deeper understanding of moon phases. Jurassic-age dinosaurs. Have you always wondered what they ate?

Capturing  your ponderings or observations or arrived-in-flash notions plays a vital role in a writer’s practice. May I be so bold as to call it the backbone of the writing life? A habit as important as reading? Because close attention trains your brain, creates new neural pathways. And writers need to captialize on neuroplasticity. {This is a helpful explanation of neuroplasticity.}

Close attention helps you walk in the world as a writer–more hunter than dreamer. Maybe we should make that hunter-gatherer. And that brings to mind another image. I’m picturing a woman of centuries past. She’s wearing rudimentary clothing, has a baby strapped to her back and carries a cleverly woven basket. With her baby dozing peacefully she’s foraging along a verdant hillside–wild onions, berries, kindling, teeth from a dead animal’s skull.

The teeth just popped in my head–I watch a few survival-type shows like Alone (fascinating though sometimes grisly) and Life Below Zero. Programs where humans are operating under sometimes-harsh conditions. Where one false step on soft ice can mean doom. Where people live with hyper awareness–noticing changing skies, caribou  migrations, wild foods, and game trails. Where primitive skills can be life-saving.

Let’s not forget reading like a writer in our gatherings. This means you’re reading for pleasure and analyzing the author’s techniques. Then nabbing your findings onto a page. Some of my lists that stem from readers are Word Pairings, Bringing Characters to Life, and Setting Details.

Keep your gleaning basket handy.

keep writing, keep dreaming, have heart

Recommended: If you like documentary films woven like a lyrical tapestry, watch King Coal. A coalminer’s daughters traces the coal industry’s past with the many ramifications to a region, ecomony, and families. A eulogy of sorts.

Information on upcoming online classes will be coming–they’re happening in the fall on Zoom. I’m stoked. Brimming. So much to tell you folks about.