The Birth (and the Evolution) of Ideas
By Sarah Callender | May 4, 2023 |
The world is a marvelous and mysterious place. It’s also fairly un-understandable, at least to me. String theory in physics is well beyond my understanding. I am equally baffled by the internet, by NFTs, by the resurgence of mom jeans and mullets. Oh, and what about the artistry of arachnids? I don’t understand how that level of precision is possible, or, how those filaments can be so sticky for a fly but not for a spider.
I also spend considerable time wondering about the human brain, how it works, how it thinks, how it makes so many millions of body-related things happen. Not that the gallbladder or ear bones aren’t marvelous. But those body parts specialize in, basically, a single job. The brain is the renaissance man of the organ world: our brain tells our legs how to walk and our eyelids to blink. It tells us when to laugh because something’s funny or sleep when we are sleepy. It creates, sorts, and stores memories–some but not all. It makes us fall in love (or not). It allows someone (not me) to pole vault. It thinks. It dreams. It wonders. And for us writers, our brains allow us to create stories, our own carefully-constructed filaments of silky sticky stuff.
My brain and I also spend a lot of time thinking about creativity, especially when it comes to storytelling. How does a brain generate an idea? And specifically how do we writers come up with an idea for a story?
A few weeks back, an email landed in my inbox advertising a webinar called “Where do ideas come from?” and as I was on spring break and as I needed some help with the ideas in my pesky, crazy-making WIP, I hopped on the Zoom call and was delighted by what Joyce Hesselberth, writer and illustrator and all-around creative soul, had to say about ideas.
The seminar didn’t help me understand the neuroscience of ideas or why I wonder about arachnid architecture, but it most certainly got me thinking about how I can lubricate the idea-making portion of my brain squiggles, about how I can put myself in situations where, somehow, my cerebral soil will yield the most ideas.
Here’s what I came up with (you’ll get to share too):
Notice. When I take my dog on a walk, I bring my phone along so I can listen to a book or call a pal, or at the very least, track my steps. But the other day, I forgot my phone, and while I considered going back (why do I care about tracking steps?) I proceeded to walk, phoneless.
And boy, did I notice! The fragrance of some species of some springtime flowering bush. The symmetry of leaves. A bee’s bumbling tenacity: Do bees see all colors and smell all fragrances? Is it the stinger that gives bees such a bad rap, or is it their classification of “insect”? Do female worker bees feel any bitterness toward or envy of the queen?
I noticed a school bus parked in someone’s driveway: Where does one buy a school bus? And why? Would I like to own a school bus? I think I would like to live in a school bus … but why? Why on earth did I just think it would be fun to live in a school bus?
I noticed a snail, gooeying up the sidewalk with stoic, silent, steadfast, slowness: Where was she going? What was her goal? Do snails feel stress? Does she like her whorled shell or does she wish she had her cousin’s sleeker, more aerodynamic whorls?
Questions bubble up when we notice.
Eavesdrop. I bet you already do this. My husband has learned to understand that, when we are working at a coffee shop or dining out, it’s impossible for me to ignore the conversations of others.
“What did you figure out?” he will ask. He knows I have fabricated an entire story based on the snippets of conversation I have extracted.
“I don’t know exactly,” I say, “but when is she going to learn to stand up for herself? How can she be so unaware of how she’s being treated? Has she always been such a doormat?”
Questions bubble up when we eavesdrop.
Consort. If ever I am feeling creatively constipated, I switch genres and pick up a book of poetry, usually Pablo Neruda or Wislawa Szymborska. This gives me a break from my long-winded narrative so I can instead look at how, in a poem, ideas and questions are distilled and condensed into stanzas where no word or bit of punctuation is frivolous. Or I look at maps … or books of maps. My favorite: You Are Here: Personal Geographies and Other Maps of the Imagination. a collection of maps and “charts of places you are not expected to find, taking you on a voyage of the mind … a breathtaking view of worlds, both real and imaginary.” Maps remind me to notice what others notice about the geography of, yes, land masses, but also how others map fictional worlds of, for example, The Wizard of Oz. Or the lines on our palms. Or the journey (including both intentional and unintentional detours) of a marriage. Does the landscape of our palm really reveal something about our personality or our future? Can matrimony be mapped, and what is the map of my own marriage? Does the Wicked Witch of the West live in a distant, imaginary realm, or does she reside, clad in striped stockings, just down the street?
Questions bubble up when we explore different genres.
Follow. Ideas happen when we follow the question. When we pay attention to an itch. When we put ourselves in unfamiliar places. When we steal and reconfigure. When we read other writers’ literature, listen to others’ music, study others’ art. Once we start paying attention to the bubbling questions, we can follow those unanswered (or unanswerable) questions, and occasionally, those questions will dump us right into a story.
Do all stories start with an idea-seed that comes in the form of a question? Probably not all stories. But so far, mine sure do.
If you’re curious about creativity, this is a beautiful article from The Smithsonian that I stumbled upon and loved, partly because it validates the idea that all ideas “have a genealogy” and that “prior art propels the creative process.” It also taught me just a little bit about sea squirts, creatures that, for most of their life, live a remarkably uncurious, uncreative existence … yet are incredibly beautiful, unique works of art.
Your turn: What don’t you understand about the world? Where and when is your brain’s idea factory most productive? What is the idea, in the form of a question, that has blossomed into a story? Would you like to own a school bus?
Thank you, as always, for reading and for sharing!
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
[coffee]
One of the things I love about this mysterious universe is how synchronicity happens. I’m brainstorming a new story idea and, poof, your marvelous suggestions appear. I laughed about the eavesdropping because I’ve been doing it since childhood. My grandmother was hard of hearing so she learned to read lips, which she did often from across the room at restaurants. She’d be watching and chuckling and I knew she was hearing/seeing a story. I wouldn’t mind owning a school bus, but I’m partial to Airstreams. Thank you for a wonderful and helpful post!
Synchronicity really is magical, Susan. And I love the phrase “seeing a story.” Beautiful. And about that school bus … I was walking the pup yesterday, and when I passed the school bus house, I noticed the yellow bus was no longer yellow! It was all gussied up with a fresh coat of red, ice blue and navy blue paint, new vanity plates, and loads of Seattle Kraken bumper stickers. I guess that’s what happen when our new hockey team makes it into the playoffs … people decorate their school buses to celebrate the Cinderella story team! And yes, I do love an Airstream. Much more roomy than a school bus. Plus, I assume, a loo.
Hey Sarah — This one is such a delight, as always. I like how your brain works, though you’ve brought me no closer to understanding it. I suppose that’s the point. In the age of the impulse to google every whim, I think we’re losing the ability to enjoy simple wonder. We’re less inclined to muse. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
Regarding having phones on dog walks, I do still carry mine. Yes, for the bedamned steps count. But also for the handiness of the camera (it really is a nice one). I prefer a silent phone, however, as the birds around me always have so much to say. I even like it when the gulls scold me and woodpeckers laugh at me. Thanks for sharing your wonderfully inexplicable brain. Makes me feel better about mine.
You should feel fabulous about your wonderfully inexplicable brain, Vaughn. And I know what you mean about the woodpeckers … here, we have Northern Flickers, and they are absolute jokers. I like to imagine that spring is happening in your neck of the woods? Hugs to you!
I love this so much, all of it, but maybe especially how you turned gooey into a verb. I love to do all of the things you mention, love staying alive to the world around me and how it fires in my brain. My childhood hero was Anne of Green Gables, who loves things that have scope for imagination–I do, too. Lately I’ve been enjoying vanity license plates and making up stories about what the letter jumbles mean–my boyfriend and I have great fun doing this together on drives.
One of my favorite things I overheard was at a Chicago Cubs baseball game at the end of August. There were two women sitting directly behind me. One woman leaned over to the other and said, “It’s almost lotion season.” Pause. “You remember what that means?” What does that mean? And why wasn’t it already lotion season? What kind of lotion?
Oh my gosh … lotion season! If this conversation was eavesdropped in late August, in Chicago, perhaps she was talking about self tanning lotion? To keep her summertime glow going well into the fall? But it’s the “You remember what that means?” question that makes the whole thing sound a little naughty or inside-jokey.
Next time, Natalie, please ask them! ;)
And I like your boyfriend. He sounds like fun.
I read this and laughed. I *think* they may have meant dry skin lotion. As soon as it turns to fall here in Chicagoland, most folks over a certain age experience flaky skin, peely lips, and zaps when they touch a light switch. It gets so dry so quick once the heat is on, even a block from the Lake.
Yes, Erma! I lived in Chicago for eight years … in the 1990s. I shudder to think of how my much more mature (wrinkled and scaly) would suffer in those wintry conditions. But gosh, I miss that city. It’s my most favorite one on the planet.
“Our own carefully-constructed filament of silky sticky stuff.” I love that phrase. I’m thinking of framing it and keeping it close by me when I write.
Oh, that’s so kind, Brian. Happy writing to you. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment. It really means a lot.
Ah Sarah, the human brain, the eyes in the heard, the ears that listen…our bodies responding to everything in our amazing world that stimulates ideas. Is that why I have piles of notes related to my novels? Is that why I keep rereading and rewriting, because I find another pathway that must be addressed? We writers, blown away by experience, unable to stop the process of USE…how can I use that idea? Will it work? And if not, maybe set that one aside. The pile grows…another walk, more ideas. What a lovely life.
Wow, yes! I love the last statement of your post … what would be a nightmare to non-writers (piles of notes, rereading and rewriting, more ideas, more rumination) is our joy. xox! Thank you for helping me see the beauty and loveliness of those piles!
I just got ripped right off the tracks by Natalie’s “lotion” question, but I was going to say one of my favorite sources of (fantasy and sf) inspiration is when something I assume turns out to be not true, like “the dark side of the moon,” or that Mt. Everest is the tallest mountain on Earth. (The peak of Mt. Chimborazo in Ecuador is farthest from the center of the Earth and closest to the moon. [The Earth isn’t round.] Or Mauna Kea, tallest from base [waaay under water] to peak.)
Michael, yes! This is brilliant. I love the idea of GETTING ideas by questioning “truth” … or by stumbling upon something that’s merely a myth. I often think about the power of a “family myth.” Like, “My sister is the pretty one, and my brother’s the smart one … ”
Thank you for adding another idea to the idea factory!
Sarah your lovely post is why I write for kids. There’s so much beauty and mystery in those arachnid architects. Just turned ina manuscript about it actually. They have different glands for producing different types of silk.
So many stories begin when I wonder why. It’s a great song too. I think play is essential for creativity. Thank you for your wonderful post and a peek into your brain.
Thank you, Vijaya, I know many people are terrified by spiders but they are truly amazing. And you’re absolutely right about play. It’s fascinating to me that children, animals, birds, even fish play. Why do we adults forget the importance of that? Shame on us! :)
I love this post! One day, I forgot my phone and was only out for half of my usual walk. Sounds crazy but I counted steps for a while. (I take my step target seriously!) I noticed so much that day, I think because my brain was occupied and couldn’t think about doing this or going there. From time to time since, I’ll count, looking for that effect. Going to read the Smithsonian article now, thanks!
Wow, that’s fascinating about the counting. I wonder if the counting of steps quiets some part of our brains? The part that gets in the way of creativity? THAT is something to think about. I’m going to try it tomorrow. Thank you for sharing this!
As to why someone might buy a school bus, my step-daughter and her husband bought one, gutted it, and are retrofitting it to live in as they travel for a year to national parks with their two dogs. The sense of adventure lives on! As for my favorite over-heard conversation: “I forgot to pack my riding crop but I did remember my sports bra.” (two middle-aged women in Door County, Wisconsin) It’s a great assignment in a writing class that breaks for lunch – come back with an overheard snippet and fit them all together into a coherent story.
I love this, Maggie! The idea of traveling, park to park, with dogs and a husband, in a retrofitted school bus? Dreamy! I’m a middle school teacher, and I had to learn how to drive the bus so I could transport students on backpacking trips, field trips, etc. It’s just the short bus, but maybe once our kids are in college and we can retire, I’ll find a bus to remodel.
And, I love the Door County eavesdropping … I guess it’s more important to remember the sports bra than it is to remember the riding crop? Unless, well, what happens in Door Country stays in Door County. ;)
Two of my younger siblings are considering obtaining a school bus to retrofit into a mobile tiny-home.
To add to your wonderful list:
Do another form of art: drawing and singing for me. When stuck with writing, I find spending some time on another form of art helps get the creativity flowing again with writing as well.
Make music playlists: it really helps me get into the headspace for whichever story I’m working on if I have some songs I connect to the story/characters. I’ve gotten and expanded some ideas from both lyrics and the feel of various songs.
Keep a dream journal: so dreams tend to be way too random to get a full story from them, but mine are inclined enough towards narrative that I have gotten the sparks of an idea from more than one regardless.
Thank you for this, Dorian! I’m so glad you mentioned a dream journal … I have never done that, but a few months back I read Homeland Elegies by Ayad Akhtar, and the narrator (a writer) talks about the importance of keeping a dream journal. I LOVE the idea of it, but honestly, I have so many disconcerting dreams that it makes me tired to think about reliving them through journaling. :) I’m so glad that YOU have found luck and sparks in your journaling.
And, I love your siblings’ dream of bus retrofitting. So fun!