There are three floors in our house. We need a lot of room for all my books, CDs and comics... and all Louise's clothes and shoes. The problem with three floors though is that I find it very difficult carrying a thought up or down two flights of stairs. I can usually remember what I'm doing by the time I reach the middle floor, but another ten steps is more than my failing memory can manage. What did I come down into the kitchen / up into the attic for? Why am I here?
I've never had the best short term memory. Or long term memory. Or any kind of... what was I talking about? Oh, yes. It's getting worse as I gradually slither into middle age though. There's an old Terry Wogan cliche about opening the fridge door and not remembering what you came here to get... and this has become my life.
My solution to not being able to remember anything for longer than a goldfish is to write myself notes. As I type this, I can't see my desk for scraps of paper reminding me to write this week's thoughtballoons script, write a competition entry script for Dave to draw, defrost the tuna for Wednesday night's tea, paint the ceiling in my new "office" (even though I did that last week), compile this week's Top Ten, download some photos from my camera, buy some melt-in-the-middle chocolate puddings and cat biscuits, and finish off the application form for next year's Apprentice (only one of those is a lie). And as soon as those things are done, there'll be a mountain more notes to take their place.
It drives Louise insane that she can't ask me to do something without me jumping up to write it down... but if I don't write it down, it just won't get done. Even on the back of my hand there's faded biro memos reminding me to look for my old CD walkman and see if it still works (for my mum to listen to her talking books on) and check out the graphic novel section in Holmfirth library to see if there's anything worth reviewing for Comics - On The Ration (I tried this, this morning, but couldn't get near the graphic novels for kids on their school holidays - I mean, for god's sake, what do kids want with graphic novels? What is this, the 80s?). I'm getting more and more like Leonard from Memento every day.
I do contend though that, as a writer, I have more things to remember than normal people. On top of all the everyday stuff, story ideas come to me at the worst possible times and if I don't write them down I might lose the one... the breakthrough... the tipping point... the masterpiece that someone finally wants to read. But why do the best ones always come when I'm in the shower?
