I was introduced to a short chap with thinning hair this weekend who told me that he was writing a novel. “What’s it about?” I asked. The reply was garnished with a great deal of headshaking and grumbling. “Oh no, I never talk about a work in progress. It’s bad luck.” I mentally added another tick to my ever-growing list of superstitious writers. I shared with him my thoughts about the nurturing of ideas and, as us writers are prone to do, thought I might get them down in black and white and share them with you.
I have worked in the creative industries as a designer and copywriter for over a decade. Every day I witness the volatile love-triangle between ideas, their ‘owners’ and the idea’s implementation (turning an idea into something tangible: an end-product). Ideas are beautiful things: vibrant, energetic, inspiring. A good idea resonates. The feeling that you get when you’ve had a good idea is similar to falling in love – you find purpose and direction and become fuelled with an energy born of possibility. Implementation, on the other hand, is hard work. Shaping that idea; carefully cultivating it and examining it and forming it into something hard and real; that’s difficult. That absorbs all of the energy from within the idea and demands even more once it has used it all up. Like a parasite, the implementation of an idea will suck the life out of you. Converting fragile dreams into robust prose is not for the faint hearted.
The superstitious bunch know this. They can feel the energy of a new idea – they grab hold of it and warm themselves and become suspicious of other people who might want to bask in the idea’s glow. Like a jealous lover they want to keep it to themselves. What if someone steals it? What if they do something with it and I don’t? And, worst of all, what if the reality of writing it down does not live up to the promise of the idea, of the dream?
Like all superstitions, fear lies pitted at its heart.
The superstitious writer will tell you that their idea needs nurturing before being released to the world. It needs to be explored and grown and tested. They hope that, my swaddling it and growing it inside a dark cave it will, one day, emerge like a well-trained warrior ready for battle. The trouble is that, in swaddling our babies and keeping them wrapped up in cotton wool, we can do them more harm than good.
My relationship with my ideas is similar to my relationship with my daughter. Like most new parents I quickly realised that my child, even at a very young age, had a mind of her own. Whether we like it or not, our precious babies have their own life-force and we can do little more than watch and encourage from the sidelines. Ideas – even those we conceive and nurture and fashion and mould in our image and put our name to and infuse we a piece of our soul – they ultimately do not belong to us. They will venture forth and face their own battles. We cannot always be there standing next to them, throwing ourselves between them and danger.
I love sharing my ideas – no matter how young and naive they may be. I believe that asking people for their opinions on an idea is a good thing. For me, the value far outweighs the risks. Exposed to the outside world our ideas will grow and become stronger much quicker than if held tightly and kept in the dark.
Great writing inspires us. Really great writing motivates us to act. So here is my call to arms: during your next writing group tell each other your ideas. Talk and, most importantly, listen to other people’s feedback. Don’t be precious about your ideas. It’s far better to set an idea free than to keep it inside to fester and die. Who knows – the worry that someone else might take your idea might even motivate you to act fast and write the damned thing down before someone else does.
Written by Adrian Robinson
23rd June, 2011
