Writing Earworms

January 25th, 1966. Does this date sound familiar to you? Seriously - I need to know. Is there anything about that date in particular that shouts out to you or compels you to relay a special message? I looked it up, and it seems that this particular date is inconsequential (unless you are Chet Culver, former Governor of Iowa, who was born on that date - Happy birthday, Chet). There is no reason why this date should be stuck in my head, and yet, there it is. 1/25/1966. And apparently, I am stuck with it.

If this happened to be a lyric to a song, it is far more socially acceptable. Someone would complain that they had a song stuck in their head, other people would suggest songs to counter it, the song would keep playing like the little earworm that it is, and that person would go about their day, quietly humming, Cherish by The Association until it ran its course. However, for writers and other creatives, some weird things can get stuck in the brain - writing earworms - and they become a lot more difficult to process because we don't know where they came from or why they are relevant; we just can't get rid of them.

Now, under normal circumstances, my cure for any writer-related ailment is to write about it. Having a very emotional day? Write about it. Thinking a lot about someone in your life? Write about them. Having trouble dealing with the White Sox' latest loss? Get writing! (and you'll have a lot to write about on that last one.) However, I think I am going to come at this writing earworm from a different angle.

Sometimes, when an idea or other creative seed sprouts in my mind, I make the active choice to try and understand it. I turn my tools I use as a writer into weapons, instruments of interrogation to find out about this thing. I don't need to investigate it for some greater truth - although that might happen. I try to find out just why it seeped into my brain at this particular time.

As far as January 25th, 1966 goes, I first ask myself, "Why that date in particular?" It can't have anything to do with me because I hadn't even been conceived. It doesn't sit on any anniversaries or anything, so I kick out the obvious distractions and wonder, "Why not 1965 or 1967? Why do those years not feel right?" "Why January?" Frankly, January is a pretty sucky month in Chicago - but maybe that's exactly why this comes to mind. And as for the 25th, well, that's kind of like Christmas but actually pretty far apart from Christmas - a full month to be exact. 

I have found out nothing about the actual date itself but as a writer, I start feeling how it works into some general narrative. It's a remote, lonely, empty date, with little connection to anything. In my family it actually represents this chronological crater around which none of my siblings or cousins were born for about two years. It's a pretty big bunch of empty there. So, in this regard, I now feel some kind of creative connection to it. Now if I want to write about it, I might not know exactly where it came from, but I know what moods it triggers, which is a start.

And yes, my next short story now has a working title of, "January 25th, 1966."