Writing is
not always about sitting at the keyboard and bashing out words. You have to let
ideas pop up. When they do, they need to germinate before they will start
frothing enough for you to churn out a story.
A writer
called Burton Rascoe once said, “What no wife of a writer can ever understand
is that a writer is working when he’s staring out of the window.” How true!
Beginning
writers generally operate on the basis that “work” is done when they’re
actually sitting down and doing it. With writing, this is asking for a miracle
and a horribly blank mind. No writer begins a story without having some idea of
what it’s about.
Stories on
the go have a tendency to jump around in the writer’s head when they least expect it: in the
bath, in a car or train, on a walk, even while watching TV or a movie. Also,
annoyingly, in bed when you're trying to sleep - ideas can start leaping about and
going places. If this happens, let it run - it's all good stuff.
This is what
thinking time is, and it’s all part of the writing process. It’s thinking
without having to sit and decide to think. It’s that imaginative spark that is
set free so it can run without effort. And it won’t happen if it’s forced at
the keyboard.
So it’s worthwhile letting your imagination have free rein at any time it starts to generate ideas. In the bath, when I am relaxed, is one of my favourite times for developing stories. I can sometimes be heard talking out loud, as the characters, working out some tricky plot point.
So it’s worthwhile letting your imagination have free rein at any time it starts to generate ideas. In the bath, when I am relaxed, is one of my favourite times for developing stories. I can sometimes be heard talking out loud, as the characters, working out some tricky plot point.
Other people
may also spark ideas, but I’d suggest sticking with a fellow writer if you want
to bounce ideas off someone. They understand. Non-writers are liable to suggest
outrageous plot points that don’t fit your story, or try to persuade you to
incorporate elements from their lives that they feel would make a fantastic
bestseller. The key thing here is that any offers of plot points need to spark
the ideas in your own head, otherwise the story won’t buzz for you.
Here’s the
thing, though. Memory is a wayward customer, so I would encourage you to jot
down the general points, or make a digital note somewhere as soon as you can
once the thinking time starts paying off. I've lost more plot points by not
writing them down than I care to remember – because I can’t remember them.
I have filled several small notebooks with ideas, and occasionally I browse through them. Anything used is crossed out, so I can’t use it again. But I’ll jot names, plot points, characters, germs of an idea – anything, just so I’ve got it there when I need it. Because when I haven’t done this, I’ve always come to regret it.
I have filled several small notebooks with ideas, and occasionally I browse through them. Anything used is crossed out, so I can’t use it again. But I’ll jot names, plot points, characters, germs of an idea – anything, just so I’ve got it there when I need it. Because when I haven’t done this, I’ve always come to regret it.
Usually when
the plot starts rolling like this, it hasn't got much to do with the bit of the
story that’s currently being written (or even another story altogether). That doesn't matter. The important
thing is to get it written down somewhere and let it sit there, because it will
be growing in your writer’s head without you realising it.
When you get
back to writing the story, you will find the plot points you’ve thought about
start to get built into the story without any real effort on your part. You
might not even have to look at the notes.
And if they don’t get used, they may well be picked up for another story later on. Ideas are never wasted.
And if they don’t get used, they may well be picked up for another story later on. Ideas are never wasted.
One of my heroines is a writer who has trouble controlling her wayward imagination:
An Angel's Touch
Outspoken Verity Lambourn
berates the mentor of two lost children, having no idea that the lame young man
with the vibrant black eyes is the widowed Henry, Marquis of Salmesbury. When
she knocks him flying in Tunbridge Wells, Verity realises she has not been able
to get him out of her mind.
Tumbling towards a promising
future, Verity must confront the shadows of Henry’s tragic past. Matters come
to a head when the children are kidnapped, but it takes a threat to Henry
himself to test the strength of Verity’s love and the truth of a gypsy’s
prophecy.
Elizabeth Bailey
Elizabeth Bailey
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