Creative Triggers

Well, this was an interesting experience. I seem to have come full circle as far as the ability to develop ideas goes.

That’s not an entirely bad thing. I’m glad it worked out like this since I’ve been trying to blog this stuff in my attempts to make sense of the creative process.

Last night I was working on Secret Writing Project #2, which I should have finished. But my wife needed on the computer to do some research, so I decided to watch DVD I’d rented a few days ago. Donnie Darko was a movie I wanted to see in a theater. Unfortunately, it was only in there for about 15 minutes, and the video stores didn’t seem to pick up on it either. Last Saturday I finally caught it in at Blockbuster and snatched it up.

For the most part I liked it. It was stylish and deliberately paced, but I thought the wheels came off the car during the last 10 minutes or so. I looked up Roger Ebert’s review of DD this morning and he also used a wheel metaphor to describe the ending: “The movie builds twists on top of turns until the plot wheel revolves one time too many, and we’re left scratching our heads.”

Still, it must have been a good move using my wife’s yardstick as a basis (“That must have been a better movie than I thought because I keep thinking about it…”). I was still thinking about it this morning before crawling out of bed. I was thinking how the ending seemed vague, muddy and botched. Then something happened, something that has only happened once before and was the trigger event for my career as a novelist.

FLASHBACK
INT. – DAY – JOE’S BEDROOM
It is 1978. JOE lies in bed, still recovering from Mononucleosis. He is reading a cheap looking science fiction novel with a bright yellow spine. He finishes the novel, shakes his head, and throws it across the room. The book hits the wall and falls into A PILE OF OTHER IDENTICAL BOOKS THAT HAVE BEEN THROWN THERE.

JOE (V/O)
I wish I was back at college.

(He looks at a stack of books next to him on the bed. They all have lurid covers and yellow spines)

I wish Mom had found some better books.

(He picks up the next book and laughs)

What am I talking about? She doesn’t know Sci-Fi from Shinola.

JOE picks up the next book and begins reading. His features slowly turn into a scowl. He shakes his head. Then he RAISES UP HIS ARM, ready to throw this book, too, and freezes. His eyes lock on the lurid cover.

JOE
I wonder what this hack got paid for this? I could write better than this.

(His eyes go wide at this revelation.)

I could write better than this…

CUT TO:
JOE, pale and in his robe, furiously typing. Closeup of the words as they hammer bold and black onto white paper:

“The place was called Doctor Bombay’s”

That same thought hit me this morning. I was thinking about the theme of the movie and how the main character was apparently supposed to be building something. I liked that part of the story, thought it was a neat idea, and how much better a job I could do with it.

Then the white moment hit. Like the jet engine that crashes into Donnie’s bedroom at the start of the film, a highly developed idea fell right into my lap. Okay, into my head (I was still laying down so I didn’t have a lap).

The idea plagued me all through my morning routine, and was in the seat next to me on the commute to work. In fact, it had me so distracted that I did something else that I haven’t done in years; I went so deeply into driving autopilot while thinking about the idea that I missed a turn and didn’t realize it until a block or two later.

So now I have a new book idea to add to the stable. This one I’ll call Ghost Story because of the supernatural turn the idea took, and because I don’t have a workable title yet.

Is it the one I’ll write when I’m done with And/News? I don’t know. My subconscious usually picks a more developed idea for me to work on. On the other hand, And/News is the exception to the rule. It was just a little fledgling idea when it became The Next Book.

I’ll have to see what happens.

I realize that this white moment came about as a result of watching a movie. But the one that was the trigger event never would have happened if I hadn’t been reading, reading, reading. Even if I was in a way, captively reading books I wasn’t thrilled with.

This is still an important reason why writers should read, even if the books are bad. If you find one that’s bad enough… and your intelligence gets insulted enough… it can motivate you to plant your gluteus in a chair and start typing.

That’s what happened to me. If it hadn’t on that fateful day in ’78, I’d probably be a starving comedy writer now instead of a starving novelist.

I think starving novelist has turned out to be more fun. And I don’t think I’ll be starving for too much longer.

NP – Weimarband, Sturm ‘n Twang