Today I was asked where I come up with the ideas for my books. The answer did not come right away. I had to think about it. Where did my ideas come from? They’re in my head, swirling, twirling, dancing around until I lasso them and turn them into words. How did they become a part of me? How’d they get inside my head?
I am a receptacle for the stories I hear every day. Everyone I meet has a story to tell. No one has lived the same life. Some stories are jaw-dropping like working undercover, others are as mundane as making egg-in-toast.
The key is that I listen when people share their stories—actually listen—and then I ask questions. I can’t get enough of the details. When did this happen? How did you do it? Where did this happen? Who was with you? How hard was that for you? How did it begin? How did it end?
If they are willing to tell me and don’t say ‘mind your own business’, I learn all kinds of things I never knew. Their story becomes a part of my extensive cerebral library. When I’m hunting for a new idea, I venture into that labyrinth and pull something out through the filter of my existence. It changes in the process and becomes something all my own.
Most ideas come from just living my life, but some ideas come to me in unexpected ways. It can come from a conversation I overhear at a restaurant or when I’m standing in line at the post office. It can come from a quirky news story I read online or a throwaway blurb in a newspaper. It can be a story from my own life married to someone else’s story—a union of ideas.
The secret is that not every good idea I have becomes a book. I have many half-baked ideas, half-written novels, failed opening chapters, and pages of dialogue that fizzled. I just file them away.
Why do some ideas come to life, grow, mature and become novels? I believe, as with all things in my life, the Creator of all things inspires my spirit, nourishes my talent and gives me the courage to persist to the end.