Picking A Story To Write

It was the second rainy day this week in San Marcos, Texas. The clouds broke for good around 6 p.m. But before they did, the grey blanket kept the temperature at a mild 80 or so with a slight breeze.

Sitting in my car with the windows down should be bearable, I thought.

I drove down Hopkins, I-35 in my rear view mirror. Red lights at the railroad crossing flashed ahead. The white and red striped arms swung down, blocking traffic. The train approached from the right.

Random thoughts:

I'm done with Philip Roth's "My Life as a Man." What should I read next?

My legs itch. I really hate mosquitos. God, why did you create mosquitos? Seriously.

Here's the train. Oh, please don't stop on the tracks again. San Marcos officials really need to build an overpass here. Seriously. Wait... I just mentally used seriously twice in a matter of seconds. OK. no more of that word.

Seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously... There. Out of my system.

It's 5:37 p.m. exactly. I should write that down. Where's my journal? Ah, there it is (on the passenger seat).

Why are rail cars so rusty? And what's with all the graffiti on them? Is that a thing? Graffiti artists going to rail yards to spray paint messages? There's one, "Doni." Is that the artist? "H2O." Wow, a scientific graffiti artist. "Seth is a pussy." Oh, that's not nice. Why'd they say that about Seth? And why spray paint it on the side of a rail car? I really doubt Seth will see it.

And so... that's how my mind wanders. I try my best to write it all down. Every detail. You never know what you may be able to use as a writer. My other thought as I sat there watching the train go by was, "What story will I write next?"

I still don't know. I have too many ideas at the moment. Too many is a good problem to have.

After the train passed, I motored on. I pulled into the parking lot near Summer Moon Coffee along Thorpe Lane. Then, I stared out into the ether and let my mind wander. Pen and journal in hand to capture it all.