Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Where do I get my ideas?

Of late, I have observed a trend among cool-writer people. 

When they are asked the dreaded question: "Where do you get your ideas?" they instantly fire back with a witty, pithy, memorable response. (Actually, in my mind the dreaded question has always been "So what's your book about?" but the first one is a close second). For an example of such witty responses from literary superstar Neil Gaiman, click here and here.

Because of this trend, and because I am generally terrible at improv, I have decided to prepare my answer in a pre-written blog post. For those of you familiar with my thoughts on Mbombo and Ragnarok, you may recognize some of these elements.

So, you want to know where I get my ideas? I'm so very glad you asked.


In an ancient part of the world, in deepest, darkest, Central Africa, there is a village named Kuna. Every nine years a market is held in Kuna, called The Selling of the Glass. You must arrive at this market during the heat of the noonday sun. Then you must wander, paying no attention to sight or sound, until you are lost. When you are good and truly lost -- only then -- you will happen upon a hovel selling straw. Do not approach the owner of the hovel. Approach instead the beggar who squats at the hovel's corner, and address him by his name, and offer him a speckled cowry shell. The beggar's name is Mbombo.

The beggar will open his eyes and say to you: "Only a camel can travel through the eye of a needle."

"Yes," you must say, "but when the needle is lost in the haystack, even the camel cannot find it."

The old beggar will smile a toothless, gummy smile, and he will produce a single shard of broken crystal, glistening in the palm of his hand. You will take the crystal and you will gaze at the sun through it. The sun will hurt your eyes. Then you will place the crystal in your mouth, atop your tongue, and you will swallow it. The beggar will look at you very strangely. The temple drums will then begin to beat. On the fifth drumbeat, the beggar will offer you salt, and you must swallow the salt and vomit. 

For as every fool knows, it is a very bad idea to swallow glass.

You will leave that place, never to return, and you will proceed to write and think about things and write more things. You will do this because at the heart of our world there is a truth: the only way to catch an idea is to snatch at straws.

I hope I have made myself crystal clear.

Will I remember all of this, when people ask me the second-most dreaded question?

Duh, no. But even as a serious amateur, I can assure you that people do ask me this all the time, just as soon as they discover that I'm a Professional Writing major. No, not riding major. I . . . you know what? Yes. Yes, I ride horses, and I make money at it. Like, equestrian studies. *Sob.*

That is all, friends. Goodnight.

Here is a picture of Neil Gaiman, because attaching pictures to blog posts is supposedly a good idea.

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