The Confabulator Cafe

Tag: ideas

  • Grist for the Mill

    One of my favorite professors in library school believed that a good librarian had knowledge a mile wide and an inch deep. He gave us the following advice.

    The next time you go to the library (and if you’re like most Confabulators, your library card is burning a hole in your pocket pretty much most of the time), on the way in the door look at a random license plate. Jigger the numbers and letters around until it looks like a call number. Then go check out that book.

    It works, it really does.

    OK, so you don’t have to read the book cover to cover. But you should at least read the table of contents, the introduction, the first chapter, and the first few paragraphs of each of the other chapters. If you find something that interests you, read a bit more deeply. If not, feel free to skip. But try to take away at least the gist of the book.

    If you find yourself at a newsstand or in a waiting room, read a magazine you would never have considered looking at in your ordinary life. Or find a random blog and read a few posts.

    See, we all get into ruts. This is what I’m interested in; that is boring. Sometimes it takes just a little nudge to get you out of your comfort zone and open up whole new realms of ideas and associations.

    You will be amazed at how useful all those random little bits of information become.

  • Remixing in Writing

    For this week’s exploration [0] let us delve into my little used fiction writing side and talk about my flash fiction piece published on this very site just a few weeks ago.

    The thing with the mountain lion? Totally happened to some friends of mine. Every part of that story was stolen from somewhere else [1]. Mountain lion? Stolen. Location? Stolen. Early 1900s Girl Scout troop? The story was written on the 100th anniversary of the founding of the Girl Scouts; you couldn’t trip over a verb that week without landing face first in some retrospective or other [2]. Plucky girl heroines? My library has a complete collection of Lucy Maude Montgomery. Even the assignment was based on theft; steal a photo from Flickr and write a story about it.

    That photo was f-ing awesome, by the way. Period dress? Sabre? Pirate hat? To someone who has worked renaissance festivals for 20+ years, that was practically a homecoming.

    From the photo I got the character of Jane, from Ms. Montgomery and Ms. Low [3] I got her plucky self reliance and adventurous spirit, and I developed a backstory based loosely on something I had once heard about William Allen White’s daughter [4].

    However, I had no story.

    Zip. Zilch. Nada. Character and situation, yes. Actual plot, no. In desperation and with a deadline looming [5] I pilfered the story of the mountain lion from a friend. Bam! Beginning, middle, end, and it clocked in right around 997 words.

    For some reason, as a kid I developed the idea that creativity meant making things up from nothing, developing something complete and unique [6]. The term “remixing” had yet to be invented. If I made something by following a pattern and was praised for it, I felt like an impostor. The creativity belonged to the pattern designer, not to me. As a grownup I’ve learned about how to adapt what went before into what is coming into being, but it still feels like craftsmanship, not creativity.

    But as a grownup I’ve also learned that life is about getting over myself.

    [0] Sounds better than “random babbling,” doesn’t it?
    [1] Index I copy from old Vladivostok telephone directory.
    [2] Supposedly cookie sales are better business training than you can get in some well-reputed B-schools.
    [3] Founder of the Girl Scouts. Try to keep up.
    [4] At an age when most girls of her era were putting their hair up and becoming young ladies, she insisted on wearing plaits, because the younger she looked the more she could get away with.
    [5] Deadlines are my muse.
    [6] Which is almost impossible, of course, and almost nobody does it that way, and when they try it is largely inaccessible to the audience. But as a kid, everything in the world looks unique.

  • Panning for Gold in the Dark

    A couple of weeks back the fabulous Confabulators weighed in on where their writing ideas come from.  I may backtrack a bit over some of that territory, because where they come from seems to be connected to the ideas I end up pursuing past the ‘idea’ stage.

    Looking back on the thousands of words I’ve written, I sort of see this pattern: for a novel or short story, what usually what gets me going, and keeps me engaged, is something I’m struggling to understand in my own life.

    For example:

    ~The aftermath of the unexplained death of my father became a short story about the changing relationship of two brothers, as one pulls away from what’s left of his family.

    ~Trying to understand marriage became a novel exploring the lives of a girl traded into white slavery and a man raised in the 1960’s “who did everything right and failed.”

    ~The idea of refuge and the families we make became a novel about the friendships between gay theater kids in college and their circle of friends (‘Fame meets Boogie Nights’.)

    ~Addiction, the allure of escapism, and personal betrayals (both perpetrated and experienced) became a book about a young girl’s search for her birth parents in an alternate reality. (more…)

  • Storyteller’s Vagary

    Q: How does an idea get developed?

    A: In the dark with another idea rubbing up against it.

    Q: How does an idea get developed?

    A: One thought plus one notion equals One Idea. Take three or four Ideas, apply Heat and alchemically a story appears in the mist.

    Q: How does an idea get developed?

    A: Ideas + Heat = Story.

    Not very helpful answers to an odd question. These are the sort of answers that I’ve read from several authors, the sort of thing that’s been frustrating as I have tried to grow as a storyteller. It doesn’t really mean any one thing and can be interpreted so many different ways that it’s ultimately meaningless. I’ve tried to relate what I do to percolating coffee, sauteeing vegetables, aging whiskey or fermenting wine. None of them have been good analogies and all have been even worse metaphors.

    Dreams are part of the mix, to be sure. Anything that recycles or goes over an idea until it coheres is helpful. They’re not the most important thing because they’re irregular and for some reason I don’t always remember them. I can do the self-hypnotizing thing and try to remember them, and that works, but it’s not the most reliable thing I can do.

    For me – and I’ve been struggling with how to tell you this – developing a notion into an Idea is kind of mystical. I know, it’s not all that helpful. Being truthful, going back to the Idea Still, it really is a mystery to me how an Idea gets turned into a story. It’s one part Interest, one part Need and who knows what else. What I can and will share with you below (and this is my fourth attempt at quantifying all this) are two things that I do to facilitate the mystical process.

    WRITE IT DOWN

    Easiest thing in the world to do, just put pen to paper and throw down whatever’s coming to me. I’ve got notebooks and scraps of paper everywhere. The best one is a spiral notebook divided into three sections of about sixty pages each and it’s half full of scribblings about this and that. When I use one of the ideas or notions there, I cross it off.

    Writing things down solidifies them in my mind. I’ve got so many things vying for my attention in my head that if I tried to hold on to things in there alone I wouldn’t be able to access them. I know some writers can do that, I can’t. I have to write things down.

    WALK IT OUT

    The best thing I can do for my writing is to exercise on a regular basis. My favorite thing to do is take a three-mile powerwalk first thing in the morning before the chickens are up. That part of the day where the city is just waking up and the possibilities of the day are endless is where I get a good chunk of thinking done. I often come home from that walk with an insight into the story I’m working on. I’ve solved plot problems, work problems and any number of other things on that walk.

    I can’t emphasize enough how important exercise is to a writer. You have to move your body to stimulate your mind. It’s science, look it up. The data is there.

    It’s difficult to synthesize what I do into five or six hundred words. I hope that the more I think about it, the more I walk it out, I’ll be able to give a more concise and satisfying answer. Maybe not though. Perhaps it’s best that some things are more mysterious than others, yeah?

  • But does it lead down the primrose path?

    Every writer has the moments of doubt and indecision, asking herself, “Is there a story there?  Would anyone ever want to read this, anyway?” Usually the answer to both those questions is no, if you consider it too rationally, and she must learn to ignore the nagging voice that insists all ideas are bad, and no one would ever want to read anything she wrote, and instead persevere with the hope that all the ideas are good at heart, that the muse will triumph if you just start writing.  It’s not about the story, it’s about how you tell the story.  Any story can be made interesting, right?  Remember The Social Network?  The concept behind the movie sounded so dull, but the movie was so entertaining, even suspenseful!

    Alas, this is not always the case.  After watching the Social Network, I had to conclude not that it was a good movie about something boring, but that I was wrong about the original concept, which the movie revealed as an important and interesting topic.

    I believe that most ideas will eventually produce some good writing, if one explores the topic enough and allows it to branch and lead to new topics, twining itself into a world of interest.  But every once in a while, a true stinker of an idea does come up.

    Generally, if I have to work too hard to develop an idea, if it doesn’t help me at all by suggesting its own new directions, I eventually abandon it and return to a better-traveled path.  Good concepts do branch and twine and scaffold, and help bulk themselves up into a novel.  Bad concepts can be just carbohydrates–that quick burst of energy that fails right around 10:30, too early for lunch but too late for second breakfast.

    If I can’t stop thinking about an idea, I figure there is something to it; if I follow, it will lead me to some good thinking and writing.  But sometimes, if I forget a project, my potential audience probably would too.  The worst ideas will be naturally abandoned, and that is as it should be.

  • To Catch a Wild Idea

    An idea is like a wild animal. At first, I hear it scratching and chittering in the attic. I can poke my head up there to see what it is, but if it’s not ready to be seen, it’ll scurry away into the shadows. The best I can do is let it nest up there and wait for it to come out of hiding.

    If I don’t poke at the wild idea, it’ll get comfortable. It might grow. Maybe I’ll leave some food out for it, coax it out into the light. If it’s a healthy idea, and I don’t force the issue, it’ll come out into the garden in its own time.

    Assuming I haven’t startled it by shouting or trying to trap it in a cage, the wild idea will step out into the sun blinking, as curious about me as I am about it. I can see what it is at last. I can estimate its weight, the sharpness of its teeth, the velvet of its fur.

    This is the tricky part. I have to figure out the approach.

    I circle, examining it from every side. I step forward, change my mind, and step back.

    Maybe I’ll come in from the left, say, going with a third person approach. I croon to the wild idea in a soft voice, let it eat from my hand, then slip a leash over its head. Sometimes this works well and it walks by my side, docile, yet still exotic.

    That doesn’t always work, though. Maybe the left was a poor choice. The wild idea is blind in that eye and startles when I appear out of nowhere. It might dash off, but more likely, I’ll grab it by the scruff of the neck and wrestle the leash over its head.

    You can’t force a wild idea into submission. It’ll get sluggish. It’ll choke on its tether. It’ll wander around in circles making pathetic wheezing noises. The only thing to do is release it, start over, and come at it from another angle until I get it right.

    From the right this time as an omniscient narrator? Maybe straight on, first person? I must go softly. The idea is skittish.

    Sometimes an idea is too wild, too prickly, or even too domesticated. No angle feels right. The idea flops over on its back, sides heaving. I try to drag it where I want it to go. It snuffles and goes silent.

    It’s not dead, but it might as well be. I can do nothing with it.

    Let it go, Rach. Just let it go.

    There’s always some new creature skittering in the attic, waiting for me to offer it table scraps. If I can find the right approach, it’ll follow me to the end of the story.

  • You’d Know Better than I Would

    Hahahahaha. You’re joking, right? You assume that I know when an idea is good or needs to be abandoned.

    That’s what I count on my readers for.

    I’ve thought certain ideas were the most brilliant things since Harry Potter and been informed that they’re more ridiculous than Twilight.

    And I’ve also thought some ideas were absolute garbage that my writing group has told me are worth trying to get published.

    I think writers are too close to their ideas to be able to accurately judge. It’s what we need each other for. We have love/hate relationships with all of our writing and we can’t be trusted to make the decision whether an idea is good or needs to be abandoned.

    I also tend to be a bit like a pit bull when it comes to ideas. Good or bad, I can’t let go. Never give up, never surrender type mentality. Even when I’ve been told an idea sucks, or even if I know it myself, I still tinker with it in the back corner of my mind, trying to figure out how I can fix it up, rearrange it, give it a different coat of paint so that it is useable after all.

    And that is how I develop ideas. I take bits and pieces and try to fit them together, or take them apart and use different pieces in different places. Save some pieces for later if I can’t find a spot for them. Maybe I’m an idea hoarder. Ideas stacked in my mind like leaning piles of decades-old newspapers in an old lady’s house.

    Mostly, I develop my ideas by writing them out. Sometimes it’ll be an outline of events or character arcs, but sometimes it’ll just be a scene, and the story grows up around it. The more I write the better feel I get for whether an idea is solid enough to see through to the end.

    Ok, I might have lied a little bit. I do sometimes know when I’ve got a good idea. It’ll just hit me. Like lightning. An idea. And I think “Yeah, that would make a good story.” There’s usually bouncing up and down on my toes, pacing, and sometimes even hysterical laughter, and that’s when I know I’ve got something good. How could I abandon something like that?

  • Editing: Just saying ‘no’

    Kerouac scroll
    Even Jack Kerouac — who purportedly wrote On the Road in three weeks on a scroll of taped-together paper — still took time to edit his work.

    It’s never easy to tell yourself “no.”

    We live in a world where we we are programmed to eat large portions, fill our wish lists with the latest gadgets and toys, and give in to every impulse buy imaginable. So it’s difficult to show restraint and say no. Especially in one’s own writing.

    As a writer, it’s necessary to explore ideas. Every character, every line of dialogue, every situation has the potential to be something great. Many writers (I’m looking at you, poets!) think every word is essential and each description is pure gold. In the end, some are good, others… well, not so much.

    But I’m not only a writer. I’m also an editor. I have to edit my work, and the editor in me is much less likely to put up with the falderal that the writer in me indulges.

    As much as it pains me, sometimes things in my writing don’t work. When that happens, I have to decide if it’s worthwhile to fix it, or whether I should just cut it and move on. The key to avoiding wasted time is to develop the story before I even begin to write.

    (more…)

  • Persistent Stalkers: A Love Story

    Dear Idea:

    If you are shiny and new and interest me in any way, I am yours.  I know I pretend to play hard to get.  I act like I’m choosy about what thoughts I let into my head, and that I have, for lack of a better term, some kind of “standards.”

    Truth is: I’m kind of an idea slut.  And I’m down for almost anything.  So make your pitch, tell me why you’re worth my time, and we’ll see what happens.  If you pique my curiosity, I’m like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, “a sure thing.”

    But let’s be honest here for a moment.  Ideas like you come and go.  We can flirt and maybe mess around a little, but if you’re looking for more, I need to know you have staying power.  So here’s what you’ve got to do.

    (more…)

  • Eating Your Dead

    “The difficulty lies not so much in the developing of new ideas as in escaping old ones.”
    ~ John Maynard Keyes

    If writing is my addiction, developing ideas is my obsession.  Once I have a premise, especially a good one, I will mill it over for days.  The strange thing is that more often than character traits and plot lines, I get flashes of language and dialogue.

    Even when I am not actively working, I am writing in my head, constructing quotes.  Anyone who has read my writing knows I enjoy linguistically lining up sounds and syllables.  I wiggle words against each other, hoping the verbs vibrate and the tone trembles.

    My journalistic training singles out sound bites, excavating bits of dialogue from syllabic slabs.  I attempt to craft art, and in the process develop character and plot.

    This may sound odd, but it has always worked for me.  It’s how my writing brain functions.  I don’t seek out the sound bites.  They show up while I obsess about my premise.  I write them down for later use while ideas take shape.

    My one rule is that I will never force a favorite phrase into a story.  If I have a beautiful metaphor, but it doesn’t seem natural in context, I won’t use it.  I’ll save it for later.

    Cannibalism is allowed in art.  If it doesn’t work on its own, if the idea doesn’t have enough heft for a full story, that doesn’t mean it is bad.  What may not drive a novel may be perfect for a short story or a sub-plot.  A protagonist who can’t carry the conflict may be a great supporting character, a sequin sewn in to the fabric of another story.  It is decorative, but still helps the new piece shine.

    I don’t believe in broken premises.  If I can’t make it is work, it isn’t necessarily a bad idea.  I’m just not the artist needed to pull it off.  I won’t waste a ton of time chasing an idea that isn’t working for me.  I’ll lay it aside, but never get rid of it entirely.

    In writing, you eat your dead.  Someday, the abandoned premise, approached from a fresh perspective, may speak to me.  Twice now, I have re-written stories several years later and found them to work in ways they never could have when I originally wrote them.

    An artist changes over time, and characters I could only pretend to understand as a college kid are brutal reflections as a 32 year-old divorced father.

    Never throw away an old idea.  Maybe it isn’t a bad idea; it is just ahead of its time, waiting for you to catch up.