The Ever Elusive Inspiration

       O! inspiration! Where art thou, inspiration? Why doest thou leave me to my agony, steeped in the wretched punishment of prosaic inscriptions?

       If I knew the answer to that, I'd be writing novels, not blogs. Or maybe I'd be writing both, with my newfound gift of creative ingenuity. Either way, the anguished, sorrowful wailing of, "Where the heck are you?" is a common thing in the life of writers. Much too common, in my opinion. Authors and writers have one of the hardest jobs in the universe- coming up with new ideas to impress the masses- and when creativity hits the road, well... so does your paycheck.

       So where does this ever-elusive necessity come from? Why is it so hard to find? And why- for the love of Poe- does it never stick around?

       Good questions.

       I'll start with, "Where does inspiration come from?"

(Image from Fanpop.com)

       From this particular observer's point of view, inspiration can come from anywhere. Books, movies, pictures, songs, and so on. The only problem with obtaining inspiration from existing works is that they- the works- already exist. Someone else already thought of whatever it is you're drawing from.

       For example, the Moby Dick premise of a half-mad sailor on the hunt for a whale, in itself, has already been done to death. A 1926 silent film, The Sea Beast, a 1978 and 2010 film adaptation, the not-so discreet knock-offs of the plot (like the 2011 movie, Age of the Dragons, which features a harpoon-wielding Ishmael, a peg-legged Ahab who's after a white dragon), and those are just a few of the movies*. Now, that's not to say that you can't take an old, tired idea and spice it up, put your own spin on it, and sell it to the masses (to borrow from my own example, Age of the Dragons).

       But if by "inspiration" you mean "originality," then here's my two cents: look for inspiration in your everyday life. It's all yours, every day is new, Hollywood hasn't sunk their claws into it, yet (though I'm sure they're trying, from the amount of remakes they're coming out with), and you can draw on it almost immediately, with only a little creativity to make it Novel-Worthy.

       I know, I know, "But my life is so boring, Caz! How am I supposed to find anything Novel-Worthy (read: exciting) in suburbia?" Well, if you're one of the exempt, lucky few who do lead exciting lives- travelling to new places, meeting new people, uncovering ancient civilisations in your spare time- then this won't be a problem for you at all. Good on you, mate; but what are you doing, reading this blog?

       As for the less-fortunate: I feel your pain.

(Image from depositphotos.com)

       My method revolves around both getting out, doing things you wouldn't normally do, and taking pictures. There's not much new-ness to be had if you stay cooped up in your house, so get out! Go for a walk, go for a drive, go draw on public sidewalks with chalk and see who gives you funny looks. Take pictures of everything from six different angles. Name dogs who are tied up to posts while their humans are in the shops, and try to imagine what they're thinking. Climb a tree, just for fun; you're never too old for that. Stalk through a library and peek at what other people are reading. Try to figure out the mysteries of life, or how time works. Are there other dimensions? And before you give your screen a weird look, it's amazing what you can come up with.

       Go people watching. Invent background stories about the passersby who stare back. Try looking at life from a random person's perspective. Invent a new main character using someone whose hat you liked as a basis. Go meet new people, go do something you've never done before, something that's out of your comfort zone. At the very least, you gain a new experience and have the feeling of "What the heck am I even doing?" you can easily describe, later. Make your own inspiration to draw from, and when you get home, write about it!

       Another fun way to gain some material is to talk to people older than you; your grandpa, your distant aunt, random strangers in rest homes, and even your own parents. Some of the stories they have are fantastic, and can be even stranger than things you find in books. For example, an older gentleman I met not to long ago was a helicopter pilot in WWII, and he was more than happy to share his experiences. It was incredible to hear his story from his point of view. For the most part, people in general are happy to have someone genuinely interested in them to talk with. Even if they don't have any particularly exciting stories, your elders have so much more experience than you. More years to make mistakes and learn from them. Ask them about their opinions on things and gain some insight. If all you know is what you, yourself, know, then so will all your characters. And one-dimensional characters are no fun to read about, as we all know.

       So if all this inspiration is available, then why is it so impossible to make use of?

       This brings me to the next question: "Why is inspiration so hard to find?"

       Well, a list of things to do is easier given then actually done. So maybe you go out and try all these things; heck, you even manage to collect a few bemused stares during your chalk-drawing escapades. But nothing seems to jump out at you; nothing catches your interest or sticks in your mind. No magical plot-device instantly helps you out of the deep, deep well that is writer's block. What gives? It's simple, but oh, so complicated.

(Image from Wikipedia.com)

       Inspiration is different for everyone.

      Now I led up to that like it was a big revelation, or something, and you're probably thinking, "Yeah, so what, Caz? I already knew that. I read a pithy quote somewhere; something about how two people who're asked to draw a flower or a campsite'll never draw it exactly the same, or whatever. I don't need you to tell me that." Well, you're right on both counts. But my point here, is more along the lines of the fact that inspiration, and the ideas that follow, register in everyone's creativity differently. There isn't some (or at least, I haven't found it, yet) magic formula that conjures up plotlines. Finding and utilising inspiration takes work, practise, and patience.

       A whole lot of patience.

       Work, in that turning a real-life girl with a yellow hat into a heroine needs some creative, out of the box thinking and musing. Example: Who is this Yellow-Hat Girl? Where did she come from? How old is she? Is her favourite colour really yellow, or does she actually hate that hat, but she wears it because her best friend said it was cute while they were shopping, and Yellow-Hat Girl agreed to make her best friend happy, but her friend ended up buying it for her for her birthday, and Hat Girl would feel guilty if she threw it out, so she wears it often to compensate for her feelings of hate for the hat, and therefore guilt for hating something her best friend bought her?

       Y'know, the normal train of thinking.

      Practise, in that getting the hang of finding stories in real life takes time and effort. Go out and do it! Go find your own Yellow-Hat Girl, or Striped-Jacket Boy, or Needs-a-Shave Guy. Write their stories. Often- at least in my case- once you start to develop a character, the plot, world, and setting quickly follow. I'll make sure to write another article on creating characters sometime soon. In the meantime, have some fun just playing around; inventing worlds, dictating lives, creating characters to kill or make happy at your leisure. Write often, or you'll get out of practise.

       Patience comes in constantly, as I'm sure you realise already. It takes patience to sit down and purposefully write things you may find useless or boring, or irrelevant, and it takes patience to find your particular method of capturing inspiration. So maybe sidewalk chalk or people watching isn't your thing. Maybe you just sit down and stare at a blank page until plotlines come to you, and it works. Good for you! Keep that; utilise it. But everyone- even some of the most talented, successful writers- is susceptible to the affliction that is writer's block.

       Which brings us right into the last question, "Why does inspiration never stick around?"

(Image from Google clipart)

       The hard truth is that creativity doesn't last forever. It's kinda like a tank, in my opinion, or a wet towel. When the tank's empty, or the towel's wrung dry, there's nothing left but to stop and fill it up again. You ever wonder why TV shows run out of juice after a while? Very rarely is a series as good at the end as it was when it started. Because inspiration runs out. All the ideas have been used up, and the show spirals into ridicule and re-run oblivion. The only thing one can do to remedy it, is to either take a break (just a short one; long breaks spell death for your unfinished novel), pass off the baton to a newer, fresher writer, or try to find more inspiration somewhere else.

       Personally, I take a small break and go write nonsense I don't really have to put much thought into, like silly poems, little short stories (sometimes called 'drabbles' or 'one-shots'), or the occasional idea pool, which is one giant word document of just musings, characters, unfinished plotlines, and just all-around random stuff. Start your own idea pool; they're incredibly useful.

     So there you have it. My own methods involving inspiration and the pursuit of. I hope it helps you, should you ever need it.

Good luck writing,

- Cazual Observer

*(Movie references nabbed from a list on Wikipedia and cross-checked on IMDB)

Writing Challenge #1

The challenge was presented to me as follows: "Describe the colour red, to someone who has never seen it."

- Red -

Red is life, and love, and passion, and rage.

Red means stop, and big buttons you do not push. It's the opposite of cold; the opposite of ice and frigidity. It's boiling, and madness, and obsession.

Red is a deep blush and a warning that something is wrong.

Red is flashy and loud. It immediately grabs your attention. It's the colour of things that keep us alive, like apples, hearts, blood, stoplights, and bold lettering on labels.

Red is primary. It's often the first colour one learns.

Red is strength. It's a heartbeat, and it's exertion.

Red can be soft, like velvet curtains in a theatre; like a dozen roses; like comfy flannel pajamas in front of a fireplace.

Red can be hard, too, like anger- seeing red- and desperation- life slipping away.

Red is the people on Star Trek who always die first.

Red is spice and variety. It's sexy lipstick and high heels. It's silk ties and classy wines. It's dramatic and romantic. It's the finer things.

Red is desire and arrogance. It's vivid, presumptuous, lively, saucy, and conspicuous.

Red is life.

---
- Cazual Observer

Writing Thoughts #15

Writing thought of the day #15:

Ahh, yes. It's THAT time again. The time when I stock up on tea and lock myself in my room. The time when everything changes. The time when you either make or break your story. The time when the faint of heart run, screaming, for the hills. The time all writers fear. Yes, that's right. 

THE MIDDLE.

So you have your beginning, and it's great. Fantastic, even. Brilliant, if you're one of those sickeningly optimistic people. You have an idea of where you want your story to go, and you may even have written a little of the end, just out of curiosity's sake. Your characters are working with you, and your bad guy is as evil as evil can be. But then... Then you hit a snag.

It's just little, at first. Like a snowflake. Tiny. Soft. Insignificant. For example, "What should so-and-so be doing during this scene?" Then it grows. Just a little bigger. "Well, I don't know what she should be doing. I'll just skip this and move on a few scenes; I'll figure it out later." Then it gets bigger. "Hmm... My story's disjointed with all these out-of-place, mini scenes. How do I string them together to get to the ending?" Until, eventually, you have the proverbial snowball rolling down the cliff of Writer's Doom, "Gosh, I haven't touched this story in months, and I STILL can't figure out what so-and-so should be doing!"

And then your story gathers dust, while, in the process of "taking a break" you've gone and moved on to another, shinier, more promising story. Until the same thing happens again. And again. And again.

You all know it happens. It may have even happened to YOU. In fact, I can almost count on it. So what does one do in such cases as these?

Please let me know when you find out.

The road to authorship is paved with the dusty, rotten corpses of half-finished manuscripts.

Writing Thoughts #73

This Author's Writing Thought of the Day #73:

She was only supposed to be in my book to die. That's all. Just a victim to the plot. Just something minor to keep the book going. Then, for continuity's sake, I invented a life for her- gave her a home, something to regret when she died, loved ones, a job, people who cared about her, a life lived, grey hairs to worry about colouring, and plans for the next day- and she was suddenly as real as one of my main characters.

Sometimes being a writer means killing off characters you fall in love with (not literally, of course; figuratively), all for the sake of the plot. Sometimes being a writer means going through all that heartache of inventing new characters- giving them lives, and dreams- just to have them in for a few sentences and then having to file that entire life away- never to be used again- because the plot doesn't need it anymore, and who wants to read about the same person over and over and over, no matter how interesting they may be, when you can just invent a new one, instead?

... Sometimes being a writer sucks.

Writing Thoughts #1

This Author's Writing Thought of the Day #1:

Nothing is scarier than staring at a blank page, knowing you have a month to write however many words, on top of your normal, hectic, everyday life. Beginning is the worst. What do you write? Where do you even start? How on earth are you going to come up with a believable, solid plot, that won't get you laughed out of wherever it is you happen to be at the time? (Not that it won't happen anyway, at times, but hey; unlike reality, fiction has to make sense.) How is it possible to fill so many endless planes of empty white, armed with nothing more than a pen or keyboard and your own- faulty as it may be- brain?

But you have a deadline. You signed up; no going back.

So you put your pen to the paper, or your fingertips to the keyboard, and then, suddenly, it isn't scary at all.

So you take the plunge, and begin to write, and you start to fill the page with ink (or digital ink, depending on your preference), and then, suddenly, the white isn't so white anymore.

Then you get to see your story come to life, and experience that moment of panic when your characters begin to write themselves, without your consent, and without giving a darn about your plotline. You get to see this new world of yours- all yours, did I mention?- start to run by your own rules. You begin to discover your characters, fall in love with a few, play favourites, try your hand at manipulating fate, and try not to cry when your plot demands that a few of them die. You get stuck often, are tempted to chuck your writing utensils across the room even more often, and grind your teeth at the horror of a sentence you thought was acceptable a second ago, most often. You even, at times, throw out giant sections of your work because you can't stand to look at them anymore, or you hate your plot, or your characters. Sometimes you'll hate your world, but did I mention that it was all yours?

There's nothing scarier than staring at a blank page, knowing you have a month to write however many words, on top of your normal, hectic, everyday life.

But there's nothing else quite like it, either.

To: Mr. Santa Claus, North Pole

Dear Santa,

Y'know, this year I think I've been pretty good, as far as "good" goes. I've eaten all my veggies, apologised to the people I need to (and the people I don't need to), and haven't turned brother dearest into mulch, yet. Heck, for that I'm practically a saint; wouldn't you agree? Well, you would if you lived with "brother dearest". I love the Christmas season and all, but... being rudely awakened by bad Christmas tunes at ridiculous in the morning by an unfortunately resilient, viciously loud plastic jukebox doesn't help my chances of staying on the "nice" list, y'know what I mean?

I'm pretty sure murder makes for an instant transferral.

So, anyway, I'm just writing to say "hi", see if our deal's still on, and ask you for something. Wait, wait! Hear me out for a second! I know what you're thinking, "Everyone's always writing to ask me for stuff! Doesn't anyone bother to just say 'hello' every once and a while?" Next time, I promise. And I'll send a little extra with my next delivery to make it up to you, okay? Fresh-baked.

Also, if you didn't want people asking for stuff every Christmas, why did you even start doing this? What did you expect? A nice, orderly line? Asking politely? Acknowledging limits? Not in this world, Santa baby. Oh, that reminds me; I already told Mrs. Claus: A Facebook Page? Bad idea. BAD idea. I know the elves in PR have their little striped stockings in a twist about "getting with the century" or some cheesy sales pitch like that; but do you know how annoying notifications are, after a while? No idea at all?

Let's put it this way. Here's me, Miss Relatively Quiet, and even I'm not a fan getting poke notifications (before you say anything, I like the pokes, not the notifications). Can you imagine getting 4 billion of them? As well as instant messaging to every last kid with a Facebook account? ALL YEAR ROUND? You'd short out the server in two seconds, tops. Just think on that a bit, and let me know the verdict.

That little thing about our deal? I have you covered. I'll make sure my mum buys extra Andes Mints just for you, and doubles the batch. Mmmn-MMM! Her cookies are the best. See that little smudge on the top left corner? Cookie. Andes Mint cookie. Can't you almost smell it? Taste that gooey, chocolatey goodness that just makes you wanna melt? That pleasant surprise of soft mint? I can make it a reality, for you, Mr. Claus. So as long as you take my bestest friend off the "naughty" list, I'll just keep these coming.

Mmmm, cookies.

As for me, well, I don't want much. Nope. I'm already really darn happy with my life and what I have. I'm blessed with a stable family, friends, and a roof over my head. But... you know what wouldn't hurt? A shamshir. Hey! Just a minute! I know you don't really do weapons- striving for World Peace and all that- but... It would be nice. And I'd understand if it's a little too much to ask after that incident last year (I'm aware that Billie, Benny, Birdie, and Bernard haven't recovered, poor things), so I'd settle for a scimitar. They're gorgeous. Have you seen those things? True beauty in blade form.

Thus concludes my letter! Take care of yourself, okay? Don't overwork the poor elves. Tell Rudolph I said hey, and to let me know if he ever has any trouble with Dasher again. Speaking of whom, has his fur grown back, yet?

Send the Mrs. my regards!

Sincerely,

-Me