Fiction writing is like stone sculpture. You start with a large block of stone, then cut and chip away all the pieces of stone you don't need, leaving only the smaller statue behind. In my case the problem is, which large block of stone do I choose, from the Everest-sized mountain of stones available to me?
What? It's a peregrine falcon with a fedora. How can you not see it? Uncultured swine!
Yes, it's crowded in my head.
I've always had story elements, characters and scenes, coming into my head. Half of my earliest childhood memories are of making up stories to entertain myself. With no siblings, a sick mother, and a father always working or watching TV, I spent most of my at home time alone.
Apparently, when I was three and we lived at the house on Kenilworth, I would tell whoever would listen that there were lions in the laundry room. I also remember staging train crashes, along with their ensuing disaster narratives. Not with actual toy trains of course, with whatever was at hand. I had very few toys growing up. My mother believed they were unnecessary. She allowed me books though. My father did manage to get me Brix Blox, and later Meccano, under the umbrella of "they're educational".
We are so excited!
Red, white, and blue, the funny things you do...
Metal strips, screws, motors. What could possibly go wrong?
Any other toys I had were gifts from relatives, though those were few and far between, as my parents didn't celebrate the holidays or birthdays. I remember one incident with my grandfather at a Canadian Tire store, him holding this huge box that was clearly a train set. When I inquired about it in the checkout line he responded with a big grin, "It's a TOOL." I also remember being allowed to pick one souvenir while on a trip to I-don't-remember, and to my mother's shame and horror I picked a shiny red hatchback sedan toy. The same toy I blew up in the bathroom sink later, but that's another story.
So yeah, entertaining myself by making up stories and character and scenes became my one of my brain's most used functions in my early childhood, and as a result, my brain now does it all the time, whether I want it to or not. It never stops. They just keep coming. I can't make a coffee or go to the bathroom without thinking of half a dozen story ideas.
Where do you get your ideas? Wrong question.
How do you make them stop?
You write.
