Last week, I went to the beach with
some friends. A part of me hoped to accomplish a lot of writing while
I was there, get ahead on blog entries and knock out some work on one
of my novels. But that part of me was outmuscled by jam sessions and
conversations, crazy foods and hours of beach exploration. Needless
to say, not a jot was done the whole week, despite my best efforts.
Nevertheless, I did get a lot of
thinking done, especially on the drive there and back. I was
discouraged in my soul at what I realized in these times on
introspection, because I realized I had not come up with a new idea
in months. You see, I'm constantly writing stories and outlining
plots and developing characters, but recently these have all been
built upon ideas I've had for a long time. In my attempts to bring
these stories to their full potential, I've been focusing in on them
and therefore allowing no room for new stories. There are pros and
cons to this, and one of the big cons is the loss of inspiration.
There is a thrill that comes with a new idea, the spark in that
moment is unlike any other. It comes from an off-handed comment or a
passing shadow, it can come from anywhere but you never see it
coming. It is one of my favorite parts of storytelling – the fact
that it didn't exist five minutes ago but now it's a whole world and
it's mine. So realizing I hadn't had that experience in a while kind
of scared me. Did I just have a season of inspiration and now I'm
done? Sure I have enough ideas catalogued to last me another 6 or 7
years of publication, but what happens after that? I was worried and
frustrated. I mean, if you can't get inspired at the beach, I think
you're in trouble.
But I guess the beach just isn't my
place of inspiration.
The drive home proved longer than we
expected. One detour lead to another and another until we were lost.
So there we were, driving around somewhere in North Carolina, in the
dark of night, listening to Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. My
thoughts were a million miles away when Hayden realized where we were
and declared us no longer lost. When he named the area and pointed
out landmarks, I actually knew where we were as well. We started
talking about the mountains and farmland around us, my mind drifted
into the life I'd lived myself in these parts, the people I had met
and the experience I'd had. I remembered the sunrises and sunsets,
the rainy days and the summer cicadas. I remember the air in my lungs
as I wandered those hills and dales, and suddenly... I felt that
spark. An idea billowed into my mind and little grains came tumbling
in from every direction. A new story, new characters, a new world all
its own swirled together within me.
And I remembered why I do what I do.