Every
so often, I get asked where I get my ideas. And I never know how
to view the question. (Which might seem just a tad bit strange.)
The
confusion for me comes from a place that doesn’t seem too obvious,
but makes sense once you hear it. The reason people ask almost
always comes out of two reasons, sometimes independent of each
other and sometimes intertwined. First, and most often, something
I put together connected with them and they enjoyed it. Second,
common but not nearly as often, an observation wandered to a place
that surprised them.
In
general, the where do your thoughts come from is asked as a compliment.
Which is fantastic. But… ok…
When
you live in an area that annually ranks as one of the top in the
country for the accumulation of snow…
When
you are preparing an essay about how dogs have the unbelievable
ability to completely take over an entire king-size bed…
When
you have published an essay about a neighbor that routinely pees
on the shrubs and bushes and plants along the front of his house…
Combine
these thoughts and more, the reality is the source of material
isn’t usually some surprising and deeply guarded secret. For me,
at least, it seems pretty darn obvious.
It
snows, a lot, where I live. Golden Retrievers, Labradors and Saint
Bernards are prime examples of bed stealing geniuses, and I’ve
personally battled with all of them for space and blankets. Drive
down the road, a few streets from home, and see a neighbor standing
still and hovering over what appears to be some type of boxwood
while actually doing exactly what he appears to be doing.
Result?
Great portions of an essay are sometimes completed all on their
own with little assistance from me. Many times, themes repeat.
(Yes,
agreed, I’ve written a lot about snow.)
But
the real answer comes from trying to look at things from a slightly
different point of view. Take the picture, tilt it about fifty-two
degrees, place a hand over one eye and begin hopping, then decide
what you see. Slightly different focus, slightly different interpretation,
slightly different results than the ones that occur while sitting
completely still.
Sometimes
it does feel easy. Sometimes it may not connect. And sometimes
it means revisiting a thought while adjusting the tilt to sixty-seven
degrees and covering the other eye.
For
my nonfiction material though, it’s always been fueled by a desire
to tell a story and connect with people. I suppose that concept
can be tied to any type of writing. Sharing a narrative with a
reader works for anything I’ve attempted, never mind limiting
it to only what I’ve presented. Relaxed and casual and approachable.
Usually friendly. Sometimes grumpy. Every so often, nonfiction
with a bit of a twist in presentation to maintain the foundation
of the story as I try to disguise the sources or protect the guilty.
Often
though, these moments that trigger action from me can move quickly,
disappearing from thought just as easily as they arrived. (I often
cringe when thinking about the material I’ve come up with and
then forgotten before I could write it down. Mainly, I cringe
because I know some of it was really good.)
More
than anything though, the biggest challenge is assembling something
that isn’t welcomed with an immediate response. The idea strikes,
maybe it sits with me a bit taking form, then I begin to write.
After producing an essay, I save it and walk away for a bit to
give it time before I proofread and edit. During that entire process,
rarely is anyone else sitting nearby. Imagine asking a question,
knowing it may be days, weeks, months or longer before anyone
answers.
If
anyone answers.
Where
do I get my inspiration? From a desire to say “look at this” while
hoping someone will join me on the park bench and watch the world.
(And
peeing neighbors. Always inspiration to be found from peeing neighbors.)