My ‘Writer Brain.’ Or, ‘here kitty,kitty…’

So, when I did the initial Goodreads Q&A, the question of inspiration came up. I said, that the short answer was, that for the most part, ideas just arrive out of nowhere. I also said, that the long answer was more interesting and might make a blog piece. So, here we go...

I have read elsewhere, that it feels as if the stories are already there, just waiting to be found. It's like archaeology, you see just one small corner of something sticking out of the ground, then after a lot of patient work with a trowel and a paintbrush... there it is. That does ring true, it feels right. What about that bit that you see first though? That little glint in the corner of your eye? Where does that come from?

Let me introduce you to my 'Writer Brain.' Yes, I know, it's a rubbish name for it. There must be a proper technical term but I have no idea what it is, so it's my 'Writer Brain.'

Most people have done a crossword at some time or another in their lives. If you have, then, you have probably had that 'five across, six letters experience.' You have the crossword finished, except for, 'five across, six letters,' and it just won't come to you. You throw the magazine down and go on with your day. Seven hours later, you have your head in a supermarket fridge, deciding which bag of peas is the best buy, when a single word just drops into your head. It has nothing to do with frozen food, you don't know what it's doing in there. Then slowly, you realise that it's the answer to 'five across, six letters.' The answer to a crossword clue, in a crossword that you gave up on seven hours ago and didn't give a conscious thought to thereafter.

That's what my 'Writer Brain' is like...

It exists somewhere in the back of my head, separate from my everyday brain, and it obeys its own set of rules. Somewhat like a cat, it won't come when you call it, unless it feels like it. At other times, it just turns up unexpectedly, demanding attention. It's a feline 'Writer Brain,' for sure.

It's a greedy thing. It hoovers up everything, like a little black hole. Books, movies, TV, news, everyday conversation, overheard conversation, jokes, music, body language... anything, everything. Then it minces it, it slices it, dices it and rearranges it into something else.

It does this with little or no conscious input from me, just like, 'five across, six letters.'

So, I am walking over to the supermarket one dark evening, (possibly it's for those peas, I don't remember). Into my head and apropos to nothing, comes a little snippet of dialogue. Two people are talking on a balcony, in the dark, looking out over city lights. One is explaining how dark air is different to light air, how dark air conducts magic so much better than light air, just as water conducts electricity better than air.

Shiny, shiny, it's the corner of a story sticking out of the ground... where is my trowel...