In junior high creative writing class (an experiment our school or district was running, which I loved), I wrote a short story about toys that came to life. I remember it because my teacher complimented it and gave me one of the first suggestions that I was a good writer. I remember little else about the story beyond an illustration I made—the view from within a pile of toys, peering through a gap at the child’s room beyond.
At the time, I knew that the genre “toys come to life” doesn’t belong to Disney-Pixar.
But somewhere between 13 and 18, as is often the case, the self-doubt and impossibly high standards crept in.
I read the greats and wanted to be great. I was, arguably, a snob. I wanted to write the next Gatsby, not the next Twilight (she said, snobbishly). And it needed to be original. I think this was in part a reaction to the media zeitgeist of the noughties that began toward the late ’90s: remakes and sequels (think The Mummy and Buffy, great though they were).
“Write the next great American novel,” I wrote on goal lists and planners “jokingly” throughout my twenties.
But it wasn’t really a joke.
It wasn’t writer’s block; I was shackled by originality
I called it writer’s block for a decade. But really, I had methodically removed joy from my storytelling process. In tandem with my journey to extinguish silliness from myself (damage I’m undoing) and write something completely unthought of, my writing was oh so serious.
Then a slew of modern writers wove worlds and characters that reminded me of the fun of it all.
Last week, I made the point that fun and serious aren’t mutually exclusive. Now I’m going to share how to find a fun idea, with illustrative examples and 2 writing exercises.
“Poor Things” and the power of what if
To be clear, I do not know the genesis of Poor Things, when Alasdair Gray first imagined his 1992 novel. It may have been something entirely different, perhaps Alasdair’s commentary on how women are viewed subconsciously by society and how we police female sexuality (another inspiration I just made up). But it could just as easily have been a passing thought while reading Frankenstein:
“This story would be so different if the corpse Dr. Frankenstein used had been female.”
Exercise:
1) List 3–5 titles you’ve read or watched recently.
2) Ask questions that start “What if” or 2a) think of a side character and explore the trope from a less-explored perspective.
Example: Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? | What if a group of 16–17-year-old friends actually tried to investigate real crimes and spent their nights trespassing in abandoned mines, caves, buildings, etc.?
Tropes are tools. Use them
Again: Pixar doesn’t own the idea “toys come to life.” Small Soldiers, Pinocchio, Winnie the Pooh and The Lego Movie are testament to the worlds within 1 idea.
Brainstorm before abandonment.
Paramount Global (who owns the Star Trek media franchise) does not own the idea that humans start exploring unknown space.
Perhaps the most genius tweak to add stakes in The Orville (another in the “we explore space” genre) is the removal of the transporter deck. To flee or land on a planet, they have to get on their shuttle and fly. No one’s going to yoink them out of trouble as the planet explodes like the hand of god.
Still further IPs have explored the potential horrors of the unknown. From Lovecraft to the Alien franchise to Scavengers Reign, the idea that what we find might be hostile, and that not everything you find will be your friend is a deep well that spans time and cultures.
The quicker you shy away from a story for fear of “writing another Star Trek,” (for example) the more likely you are to leave a potential story unwritten.
Push through that fear.
Write from a new perspective. Write it with less future tech. Write it as though we never became more socially evolved. Write it as though everything is stronger than us. Write it as though we discover nothing we consider “intelligent” life. Write it as though there’s nothing. We are completely alone, nothing that supports life anywhere we’ve been.
You might push through and still feel “it’s been done.” But it shouldn’t be a knee-jerk conclusion.
Exercise:
1. Think about what you watch, read or play for fun. Your media comfort food.
2. Think of an unexplored perspective, or make a fundamental change.
Example: Lord of the Rings | What if Sauron won?
Suddenly you’re writing 100 years in the future, someone who wasn’t there when the fellowship failed, who was born and raised in bondage to the Uruk-hai under Sauron. Change some proper nouns and you have your own world, characters and story.
The fear of being unoriginal is just another thing stopping you from writing.
But storytelling isn’t necessarily about pulling something out of the void. We borrow and build upon our cultural lexicon with every story.
You don’t have to invent an idea from scratch to tell a damn good story. Take what sparks something in you, twist it, reshape it and run with it.