Idea Island: Where do you get Ideas?

Where do ideas come from?

When I asked my youngest sister where ideas came from, she rolled her eyes and said, "they come from your brain, Stephie." My other sister specified: "They come in through your eyes, ears and nose."

Well, that lovely piece of wisdom concludes this blog. See you next week!

Just kidding. Ideas are much more complicated than they might seem--at least, to me they are. They can be intimidating sometimes. They can be scary. Sometimes, as in the case with one of my current works in progress, it can be necessary to set them aside when I'm not ready for them yet. 

But the biggest question regarding ideas seems to be: "Where do you get them?"

Unfortunately, there is no magic idea shop where you can walk in, pick a few creative and genius concepts off the shelf, pay for them, and walk out. But you do live in a very interesting world, from which you can pluck little observations to write about, or to paint, or whatever you'd like to do.

Our lovely middle sister had a point when she said that ideas "come in through your eyes, ears, and nose." She likely meant that we can find ideas through our experiences in everyday life.

If I look around me right now, I can see a few interesting things:

1. My dad playing the guitar

2. My sisters watching a movie

3. A painting that my great-grandfather made

Any of these could be a "baby idea."

If I build upon number one, I can find a decent story to write about. The first thing I have to figure out is the main character. Perhaps I'll write about a guitarist who's trying to pursue his dream of becoming a rock singer. (None of this stuff actually applies to my dad, by the way. He's just playing the guitar.)

Next, I would need to invent obstacles to the character's dream or desire. Maybe he has to take care of his mother, whose health is failing, as well as work full time, so he doesn't have much time on his hands. In addition--because we have to make things difficult for the main character--his girlfriend hates the sound of guitars. Or maybe he lives in an apartment building, so he can't do anything loud because the people living next to him will complain.

Of course, that idea is still only a "baby idea." But it's something, and if I continued to build on it, it could become something truly great. (Remember...some of the most amazing books aren't about amazing things. Little Women is literally about four girls growing up.)

If you're ever searching for ideas, and can't find any, remember that all you need is a character, a desire, and an obstacle.

That's it!

So...does writing just come naturally?

 

Is writing instinctual?

When I asked my younger sisters the first thing they would like to know if they started to write, they gave me two similar answers:

1. How do you make your writing feel less awkward?
2. How do you get good grammar and spelling?

The truth is that there's no formula except to write more and write often. Of course, it's also important to read, but your writing will not improve unless you write. There's no magic and there's no secret.

When I started writing, there was nothing beautiful or spectacular about my little stories. My dialogue didn't even have quotation marks. Capital letters were rare. My handwriting was all over the place. 

When you dive into the vast and beautiful craft of story-making, you're going to be bad at it for a while. It's the same as if you started to play the piano. You can't expect yourself to be able to sight read fifty pages of advanced classical music as soon as you sit down on the piano bench, can you? But eventually, you'll be able to do things you could never have imagined.

The problem is that a lot of people don't have the confidence or the determination to stick with it until they get past the "awkward awful horrid writing" stage. Instead, they stop after a couple tries and brush themselves off as untalented.

In order to prove my point, I will provide a brief excerpt from a story somebody I wrote as a child:

Once thair was 3 chillgren, a mom and a dad. theiy had a cat But it got vary sick and we had to put her down. But! p.s (the cat was 19. so the family soon got bored.) at not having a pet. so they started looking at dogs But all the dog plasis (unintelligible) that. theiy had kid's and the poo's wer big. But this famaly was serprised becas theiy had lot's of expereins so theiy (unintelligible).

Even if you ignore the obvious spelling and grammar mistakes, this story doesn't even make sense.

That story was probably written when I was about eight years old. Now, here is an excerpt from another story that I wrote at thirteen years old:

A smile danced at the edges of Miriam’s lips. She lifted the lid gently off of the box and took out the foam which covered the Shoes. For a moment, there was pure joy on her face. Then it crumbled: it was as if she was an aluminium can, and somebody had crushed her. She held up the specially constructed shoe, the lightning bolt along the side glowing faintly, the scarlet laces tied up in a perfect bow. It was brand new: the most coveted style that year, and by far the most beautiful.

I don't know about you, but I think that's a huge improvement. (Unfortunately, that story was written for an assignment in English class, and the plot had to be based off of a short story we'd read, so I'll never be able to publish the whole thing.)

In order to get that much better, all I had to do was read more and write more.

(And pray. Don't forget to pray. That's like forgetting to breathe, and you can't write for a long time without breathing, can you?)

If you're doubting that you could ever be good at writing--or anything else, for that matter--remember that we all start out really, really awful at whatever we do. All we have to do is keep going.

Who are you?

 

What is your identity?

During a conversation with my dad, he remarked that a lot of people ask "what do you do for a living" instead of asking about a person's identity. What a person often means when they ask about my school or my hobbies is who are you? 

The reason people say that is likely because they don't know what qualifies as an identity. Is your name your identity? What about your gender? None of those feel right; they're only an aspect of who you are. Your occupation is where you likely spend the most time, so it becomes the default question.

However, there's a problem with finding oneself in a career. Your identity is like your definition. If you define yourself by your job, you will find yourself unfulfilled, because a mere job--although healthy--cannot fulfil you.

Another identity might be found in family. Last names are passed down, and a woman will generally take the last name of her husband. This reflects the truth that a person's family is a huge part of who they are. I know that my family has shaped my personality. My likes and dislikes are surprisingly similar to those of my parents and siblings. And, after all, a married couple become one: they can be found in one another.

But a person's family isn't everything. After all, people grow apart. People move away. People are orphaned and widowed. Some children have never known their parents.

The only identity that really holds water is an identity in God. He is eternal and perfect, and His love never fails. 

When I attended a Steubenville Youth Conference (they're incredible!), I remember one speaker saying that, in Ancient Rome, a child could be thrown away. Infants were abandoned on the streets because their parents didn't want them. That was considered lawful. But if somebody adopted a child, they could never abandon that child. Why? The logic is as follows: biological parents didn't ask for a rebellious or ugly kid, but parents who adopted knew exactly what they were getting into.

Most early Christians lived in Rome, so they were familiar with Roman culture. That is why so much emphasis was put on being the adopted sons and daughters of God. It means that God knows exactly what He is getting into--and He could never abandon His children.

When a person becomes a Christian, God adopts them and makes them His own. The old is shed away, and a new life begins: a life with a new identity as a child of God and a brother or sister to Christ. 

An identity like this is rooted in something unchanging and beautiful. It can never be shaken. It is like a house which is built on solid ground.

I'm a daughter of the Lord God!

Who are you?