I have been struggling to come up with fresh and new ideas to write about. I don’t want to be the writer who does remakes. The movie industry is bad enough.
So I am trying to find new ways of generating ideas. Scary ones. There has to be unique ways to weave a tale. Ideas are one of those tricky things that if you make a conscious effort to come up with ideas, they don’t seem to want to surface.
Ideas just happen.
They are magic little creatures that nibble at your ankles. A new idea can’t be a formula or a plan.
They just appear from the murky gray goo upstairs.
I am going to start trying to pull a bucket of fresh water from the well of dreams.
I have a dream journal (ok an app) that I am going to write down my dreams before the gloomy chemicals in my brain erase them.
Maybe bits and pieces of a new story will emerge. Don’t steal my idea but…. The other night I dreamed about a native American village that suddenly appears in neighborhoods and the tomahawks start flying.
I am sitting in an empty high school auditorium waiting for One Act plays to start. My daughter is the MC and creative designer. Check out this prop she designed.
…perfect for Poe’s 203rd birthday!
