Posts Tagged ‘ideas’

Human brain NIH

OH HAI. YOU BUSY? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Brain: HEY.

Me: Zzzzzz.

Brain: OH HEY.

Me: Zzzz….buh? Wha’s goin’ on?

Brain: CHECK THIS OUT.

Me: Burglars? Fire? Aliens?

Brain: NOPE. EVERYTHING’S FINE. CHECK THIS OUT.

Me: …It’s quarter to four in the goddamned morning.

Brain: I KNOW. AWESOME, RIGHT? CHECK THIS OUT.

Me: I am going to kill you, even if it kills us both. Because you are an annoying little git.

Brain: I DIED DOING WHAT I LOVE. NOW CHECK THIS OUT.

Me:…Story ideas? You woke me up in the asshole of the night to show me story ideas? Can you not see that I was sleeping?

Brain: SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK. NOW WRITE THIS DOWN BEFORE IT GOES AWAY.

Me: I’ll have to go to the other room. Can’t you hold on to it until morning? You know, proper morning, not this cut-rate pre-dawn bull shit?

Brain: THAT’S NOT THE DEAL, MOTHERFUCKER.

Me:….Did you just call me—?

Brain: THE DEAL IS YOU WRITE THIS DOWN NOW OR I FLUSH IT DOWN THE MEMORY HOLE FOREVER. THAT’S HOW THIS WORKS. NOW STOP BEING A WHINY LITTLE TIT AND GET OUT OF BED, ASSFACE.

Me: (getting out of bed) I hate you.

Brain: HA HA HA. YOU’RE ADORABLE WHEN YOU’RE TIRED AND HOMICIDAL.

Me: (going to find notepad) Die in a fire.

Cat: Oh, are you awake now? Awesome. Feed me, servant, lest I rend your feet with my claws.

Me: (writing) I’m going to start mainlining coffee.

Dental hygienist polishing a patient's teeth

I chose this picture entirely because it weirds me the fuck out. Enjoy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After blowing off my entire to-do and chore list yesterday to go for a long run and then hike to some awesome waterfalls with friends, I started today under the gun.

And now here I am, just past noon, working on the second-to-last* item on my list. Apparently the way to get me to do something is to not give me enough time to do it in.

I’ve heard this myth before: the I-work-better-under-stress myth. Usually in school, coming from the mouth of someone staying up until 4 am to finish a research paper.** It’s a lie, of course—I am most definitely not working better right now—but it can be a useful one. One that gets you out of someday and into now.

Now, if people said that they worked better under a deadline, that I could get behind. Because nothing is more motivating than the knowledge of a clock ticking down somewhere. The clock means Consequences, which are far harder to ignore than a shrug of disappointment.

So the Monday Challenge, fellow toilers of keys and brain, is this: write me a deadline. Somewhere, there is a timer, and it will run out. What happens when it does? Doom?*** Teeth cleaning? Velociraptor Jesus descends from the sky on a hoverboard to take us away? Or something worse?

Write me tension, write me time, write me the nail-biting, heart-pounding, stomach-clenching realization that time is running the fuck out. And then what happens when it does.

I’m off to finish my to-do list.

*Note that placement on the list is more indicative of time constraints than importance. There were like eight fucking things I had to get done before eleven A.M or forget about entirely.
**I also stayed up late to finish papers at the last minute, but my excuse was more like, “What? I was busy drinking. Get off my back or get me more cigarettes.”
***Always my first choice.

Knives Sheathed

More is better, right? (Photo credit: mrbill)

I wouldn’t be the writer I am without my friends.

Sounds trite, but it’s true. I’m not exactly a social fucking butterfly*, but I’m lucky enough to have collected some interesting people in my life. We eat, drink, make merry, and generally enjoy ourselves. They make life more fun for me, and I like to think I do the same for them. At the very least I’ve probably introduced them to some highly creative swear words.

And as I said, from a completely fucking selfish point of view, they make me a better writer.

I have a group of friends, most of whom aren’t writers, but all of whom are very clever people. And not that kind of clever where every comment is a thinly-veiled blade trying to take a dig at someone. We’re just people with pretty varied interests and good senses of humour who enjoy what I can only describe as the game of conversation. We like being clever, and playing off each other, one thing leading to another, until the expression ‘Well of Souls Ugly’ has become part of the personal group lexicon. By playing like this, and keeping malice out of it, we not only have a lot of fun, but I think we make each other sharper and quicker. Gods know we can just keep rolling on a random tangent for ages at a time. And we kick ass at trivia nights.

Ever heard the old phrase ‘iron sharpens iron’? It works here, too. Those friends of mine make me a better writer because of the way we talk. I get quicker with a turn of phrase. I look at things in a different way. I consider the previously unconsidered. Surrounding yourself with people who push you, who challenge you, who make you work, makes you better.

So surround yourself with the bright and the clever and the non-dickish.** I agree that it’s a tall order; people like that can be hard to come by, and I’m really fucking lucky to have half a dozen or so this damn close. But don’t give up. Try new groups, online meeting places, your local cockroach racing ring…whatever. Those people are out there, somewhere.

And when you find them, have fun.

*Social wasp might be closer: fuck with me and mine and I will sting the hell out of you.
**This last one is key. Too many clever people I know just like to see someone else bleed. They make people feel dumber, not smarter. Seriously, people: stop being assholes to each other. No one wins that game.

Mike napping on the couch

Do not disturb. Creativity in progress. (Photo credit: fireflythegreat)

Ever wonder why you always get your best ideas in the shower?* Or right when you’re about to fall asleep? I used to think it was just my brain being a dick—here, have a wonderful idea at a time when it’s completely useless, and, while we’re at it, fuck you—but then I read a couple of articles like this. And this.

For those of you who couldn’t be arsed to click through, those links lead to articles about the importance of relaxation and boredom for creativity. Which makes sense: it’s very hard to hear any kind of inner voice in the midst of all the noise we surround ourselves with. We’re constantly distracted by the sheer volume of other shit going on. In other words, if you want the ideas and the inspiration, you’ve got to make room for them. Like vampires, they only go where they’re invited.

You have to leave space for creativity. We have this thing—at least I do—about scheduling every last minute of the day. If we’re not doing something, and something that we deem worthwhile at that, then we feel that time has been wasted. We have to be working, exercising, socializing, something. Even low-key activities like reading tend to fall lower on that scale, and we feel guilty ‘wasting’ time on them.  And if we’re not doing that shit, then you can be damn sure we’re stuck in front of our computers or smartphones, obsessively checking every twitch and fart of the Internet.

We need to reintroduce boredom to the mental ecosystem. Not real boredom, where you’re genuinely at a loss for what to do. Just the lull in activity that makes you think, makes you go inside your head and find something to do. We need the space to do nothing.

So, give it a try. Turn off your wireless connection, put away the phone, get away from the TV, and stop checking in on Twitter every eight seconds. Trust me, it’ll all continue without you. Just sit and listen to the silence for a while.

And see what turns up.

(For those of you keeping score at home, there are two new rejection letters to add to my 2013 total. Thanks for playing, Tesseracts 17 and Sword and Mythos! This brings the yearly count up to three, for three different stories. Uh…go, me?)

*Point of fact: I tend to think of my best ideas doing random shit like brushing my teeth. But I understand that the shower thing is more common, so let’s go with that.

Egg Shell

Surprise! (Photo credit: MzScarlett)

I think I got an idea that was meant for someone else.

A short story I was working on has hit a snag. Well, more than a snag. I’ve got a zero draft done, and it’s not terrible.* It was on track. But as I was slogging through a round of edits earlier this week, I finally realized something.

I don’t want to tell this story.

That’s a weird feeling: looking at something you’ve made and having no other thought than I don’t care. As someone who frequently gets far too obsessed with stories and characters, it was profoundly unsettling. Like cracking open a perfect egg to find that it’s just an empty shell. Surprise.

It’s also odd that I let it get that far. There have been stories I didn’t care to tell before, but they’ve very rarely gotten past the initial idea stage. After spending a little time together, I realized we weren’t a good fit and let it go. Or I couldn’t get through an entire draft before running out of idea juice. But to get all the way to a completed draft is….unusual.

It’s not that it’s a terrible idea. It’s really not; trust me when I say that I know a bad idea when I see one. It’s just not mine. I have virtually no interest in telling this story. And, more than that, I will do a bad job at telling it. Any reader would be able to sense the apathy. It’s practically dripping off the page, all grey and boring.

I figured this out when I was doing everything else on my to do list in an effort to avoid it. And I mean fucking everything. Laundry. Organizing my digital files. Cleaning the kitty boxes. You know something is not on your favourites list when you’d rather scoop up another species’ shit than do it.

I’m going to have to let this one go, I think. It’s not mine. And it deserves someone who will look after it properly. Someone who can tell it right. Not the half-assed, disinterested pass I’m giving it. And it’s not like I don’t have other stuff to work on.

So, free to a good home: one story idea.

*Not any more terrible than any zero draft, I mean.

Beasts of Hoth

This is what delivers mail in my province. (Photo credit: leg0fenris)

(Late post is late because I was out shoveling 8,752 pounds of snow out of the driveway. My arms are tired.)

Sometimes, the universe has no sense of timing.*

I’ve been working away at my list of submissions. To date, I only had one story lying around that I could send in. All the rest I’ve had to write from scratch. So in my quest to get thirteen new rejections in 2013, I’ve had to increase my output. I started scouring listings for short stories, and I found quite a few, but I do not keep a large backlog of stories. I don’t write a lot of short fiction, and what I do write tends to be in response to some deadline or another. Well, I figured finding some more deadlines would mean more stories finished. Right?

Well, I was partially right. I have been writing more short story ideas, and in general having more ideas for them. Part of that is the old you only find what you’re looking for trick: if I don’t have short stories on the brain, I’m not going to come up with ideas for them. Law of…I don’t know. Law of brains or some shit.

But, wonderful though it is to have all these ideas, there is still not enough time to get them all done. Or even half of them done. Which can be irritating.

There was one anthology that particularly intrigued me, but I was having trouble coming up with exactly the right story for it. I had some notes and a few false starts, but nothing worth submitting. And then I got sick, which put me behind. I chose to devote time to the anthology I actually had a story for and let the other one go.

And then I came up with an idea. A good one, too. It came to me while I was lying on the couch, covered in cats, trying to sneak in a pre-gym nap. A little more thought, and I knew I had something good.

But there was a problem: the due date was too close. With other projects in the works and, you know, having a fucking life, I wouldn’t have time to get it done. At least not done well. And I’m not going to submit a poor piece just to meet my own goal. That’s cheating. Again, I cursed the gods of inspiration** for their piss-poor timing.

But very occasionally, the world listens. Because when I was back checking more listings this week, I saw a change: the deadline had been extended. By two weeks. Just enough time to get it done.

So now I will. Thanks, universe. I owe you one.

*For example, three snow storms in the last week of March. What the unholy fiddle-playing fuck, Weather Gods?
**Commonly known as Research, Coffee, and Being Bat-Shit Crazy.

Hogsmeade as seen in the films

Dude, we were there. It was awesome.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I spent most of the last week in Orlando*, having a vacation with the Husband. As it was both of our first time in the place, we did a bunch of the usual touristy stuff. Theme parks and shopping, mostly. And lying by the pool in our swim suits, smiling every time we remembered the snow on the ground at home.**

Our personal favourite, and the one that was on our list over all the Disney stuff, was Universal Islands of Adventure. For career nerds like us, this was awesome. We drank Butterbeer, screamed at the T-rex, and got our pictures taken with Marvel villains***. It was a great day.

One of the best parts was wandering through the Harry Potter section, where they built a nice chunk of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts itself.  It’s very impressive, though crowded. I’ll admit that I daydreamed about writing something that would inspire such a real-world homage. What writer wouldn’t love that? Well, maybe some of the literary crew, but let’s face it: no one will ever make a Gravity’s Rainbow theme park.

Everywhere I went in that part, I saw kids—and adults, too, though it was less common there—who looked bloody awestruck.**** They were amazed to just be there, to be in a place that they’d imagined so many times. A place that, until quite recently, existed only inside the pages of a book and their own heads. There was a great sense of wonder about those people.

And, on the other hand, there were people who looked fucking bored. Teenagers, mostly, and of that particular age where showing enthusiasm for anything is second only to wearing last year’s hideous trend in the hierarchy of social ridicule. They’d seen stuff like this before. They were jaded, cynical. Honestly, they looked like they’re rather be elsewhere.

These were the two sides of the park: wonder and cynicism. And, given the choice, I’ll take wonder any day. It’s the font of all creativity, because what person would ever undertake to create anything without it? It’s the first step that takes you into the long fall from the cliff.

Don’t get me wrong: the theme parks are very clear that they exist only to part you from your wallet. The fact that every ride exits through a gift shop reinforces this, as do the prices for just about everything. But that didn’t matter to some people. All that mattered was that their imagination had come to life around them, and they were happy. They had chosen wonder. And that’s the same wonder you can get from a good book, or a beautiful view, or an amazing piece of machinery.

Cynicism is always easier than wonder. But wonder makes the world awesome again, no matter how old you are. And who doesn’t want more of that in their life?

*Yes, I was away again. My ninja posting skills fool all.
**Which I just got in from shovelling. On the upside, it was a good way to burn off some of the junk I ate on vacation.
***Yes, just villains, though there were heroes about. Up to you what you want to read into that.
****All right, we were those people, too. The ones giggling and pointing at things and just watching.

A herd of goats in Greece

All right, some of you have got to go. Volunteers? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The common question writers get asked is: Where do your ideas come from?*

And, for most writers, this is the wrong question.

If you’re at all like me—and most of the other people I asked—the problem is not getting ideas. The problem is figuring out which ones to devote your time to. Because ideas? They’re like fucking snowflakes. In fact, they’re exactly like snowflakes, because, unique and magical though they may be, lately I’ve been having to shovel a pile of them out of my goddamn way before I can get anything done in the morning.

I have come to the realization that there will never be enough time in my life to write every idea that comes to me. Barring some kind of time-stop device, that is. Which I’m not ruling out.

But until the day that I hold one of the dimensions in my hands, I have to pick and choose. Which ones make the cut? Which ones aren’t strong enough? Sometimes I can use the Spotter’s Guide to weed them out, but other times, I’m left with a bunch of strong ideas, any one of which could be The One.

So I have to pick. I have methodology that I use, questions that I ask according to what I’m trying to do, but in the end it mostly comes down to gut instinct. Which one feels right? Which one piques my interest slightly more than the others? That’s the one I go with.

But sometimes I’m fucking wrong.

That happened this week. The short story that I spent all last week working on, the one that was due today…it wasn’t good enough. I got through a zero draft, took a look at it, and realized that, not only was I not into it, but you could feel that disinterest in every word.

So I trashed it.** And started again.

Yeah, it sucked to have to start over with less than a week to go. But c’est la vie. If you can’t face up to the idea of junking something because it’s not good enough, editing will be very hard for you.

In the end, the new story worked out much better, and I just barely managed to get it finished in time. It was a race, I’m not going to lie. But it’s done and sent in. Now I just have to sit back and wait for the next rejection letter.

And, in the meantime, I’ve got a whole new crop of ideas that need weeding.

*Fiction writers throughout the ages have made a number of snarky and/or clever responses to this. I encourage you to Google them, not because they’re helpful, but because they are an entertaining time waster.
**Metaphorically speaking. It’s still in the Purgatory file on my hard drive, thinking about what it did.

Barrier

Barrier doesn’t look so insurmountable from this angle, does it? (Photo credit: BinaryApe)

Boundaries are over-rated.

I’m not talking about that thing where your roommate keeps coming into your room and stealing your underwear while you sleep so she can sell it on Japanese fetish websites.* You should probably address that, maybe with a taser. I’m referring to the boundaries we place on our own skills and abilities.

For example:

“I only write fan-fiction.”

“I can’t write short stories.”

“Romance is beyond me.”**

God damn it, we’re writers, aren’t we? Which means we’re supposed to be fucking creative. When did it become the norm to put so many restraints on our creativity that we might as well be Fifty Shades of Grey cosplayers?*** We should be trying new stuff, moving things around, taking in all the new possibilities. But instead, we find a niche and stick to it. Steampunk. Character-driven slice-of-life screenplays. Robot erotica. That’s all.

That is fucking stifling.

And I’m as guilty of it as anyone. For a long time, I was strictly a fantasy novel writer. But then I started writing short stories. And horror. And superhero stuff. And science fiction. And, while I found that I fucked it up a fair bit at first, I still found that I liked it.

One of my goals this year is to branch out even further: I’m going to write a graphic novel script. And, hell, if I feel like it, I might even draw it. Because creativity needs to be prodded sometimes.

So this is my Monday Challenge to you: find something you’ve never written before. Then come up with a way you’d be interested in writing it.

Don’t like romance? How about the dating life of one of your characters? Hate horror? How about nightmares that can make cameos? Worried about short fiction? Try writing a stand alone scene, or an earlier moment in someone’s life. The point is to find a way around those boundaries.

It should be simple enough. After all, we were the ones that made them.

*People do this, as I discovered in residence.
**Talking about writing again. Your relationship problems are your own.
***Is this a thing? I don’t want it to be a thing. I’m afraid to check the internet to find out.

Larry Ward had the voice for Star Wars villain...

Bring me Solo and all the free time you have for the next three weeks. And a diet coke. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As mentioned, I spent most of the last week or so working on short stories. Right now I’ve got a big ol’ ball of ideas that I need to sort. I think of it like a ball of yarn made up of different pieces of other, lesser, yarns, all knotted together into one immense piece of string. And there’s floor dirt caught up in there, and cat hair, and pieces of paper, and chewed-on bones.* From that, I have to unwind just enough to make a story.

The problem, of course, is that the ball of yarn wants to unravel. Ideas keep growing. One of them looks at another, and then before you know it, I’ve got a whole slew of other ideas. Or the first one just ate a bunch of smaller ones, so it’s now a huge, lumpy, Jabba the Hut idea.

My metaphors are all over the place. This is what happens when I’m working in Idea Brain.

Short stories are tricky territory. You need a good idea, but it has to be the right size. Under 5,000 words is a good general rule. And some stories just want to keep growing. They want to stretch. They want to eat the radioactive ooze and come ashore as giant, stomping novels, laying waste to all before them.

Which is great. Except when you’re trying to meet the submission guidelines for an anthology.

I have a solution: planning. Not just planning the story, but all the other shit that’s going on in the background. Because the problem is really that, in order to write a good story, you have to have good characters. And those characters should have some kind of life that preceded the story.** So they push the boundaries and the word count because they’re trying to become real.

Let ‘em. It’ll add to your final story, and you can keep it under the word count.

Here’s an example. This is the planning I’ve been doing for the short story that’s first on the list. You can click to make it bigger, if for some reason you want an in-depth look into my head.

Screen Shot 2013-01-24 at 1.56.59 PM

Behold the awesome majesty that is my brain at work.

No, I did not colour-code everything just for you. I’m that anal-retentive on my own.

The only part of that map that’s the actual story is the little cluster of red ones in the top left corner. Yup. That’s it. Everything else is background, world building, character back stories, mythology…stuff that will only make it into the final project as whispers and shadows.

This is how I keep ideas manageable. And never think of all this shit as wasted work. One, it adds to the finished story in ways you can’t imagine. It makes it feel like a window into a world instead of a recursive loop of self-contained plot. And two, if you ever want to revisit the characters or the world, like in the old Sword and Sorcery stories, they’re right there waiting for you.

So let ‘em become real. It’ll pay back in terms of realism. And, let us not fucking forget, it’s fun as hell.

(Update: in spite of my comment here, I did get an official rejection letter from Harper Collins Voyager this week. It came after the deadline, but I still appreciate the effort. So now they’re officially on the board. Score for this year is 0-1. Bring it on.)

*Not sure who did the chewing. Maybe one of the cats. Maybe me.
**Whether or not they had a life that extends past the story really depends on how the plot goes. My characters have about a 50-50 shot.