The Work-Shy Layabout is one of the authors at Thumbnail Books (see if you can guess which one?) who has a great deal of useless advice to impart on the subject of getting away with doing as little as possible while enjoying the life of an independent writer. His views are not to be considered reliable financial, medical or spiritual advice.
Unlikely Inspiration
‘Where do you get your ideas from?’
It’s a lovely question to be asked when you write something people enjoy reading. But it’s not an easy question to answer. I know some writers will devote hours in libraries, researching a historical epic; or, like James Joyce, keep a notebook for writing down real conversations.
Both of those take a lot of effort, though, and that’s not my lane at all.
What I’m about to write next will sound like fabricated nonsense. I won’t take offence if you do. Because it sounds like a cliche. My current work in progress quite literally (and I mean ‘literally’ literally) came to me in a dream.
I’m very lucky that my subconscious has a lively awareness of narrative structure, and on several occasions I’ve woken to immediately start scribbling into my notebook. Okay, nine out of 10 times, what seems like a certain bestselling idea is deeply terrible. But now and then, there’s just a sparkle of something with potential. A boy who lives in a village surrounded by monsters was one. (See Bardle’s diary). A painting all in blue of someone trapped behind bars, made by the paint dripping down was another (this became an early scene in the first Emma Houdini novel).
This latest one was particularly unusual, though. I didn’t so much dream an idea, I dreamed a whole series that, in my dream, I had already written.
It started in a country mansion. I remember vaguely something about the butler stealing the deeds to the house and taking it away from his aristocratic employer. Yes, I know, that’s not how it works, my subconscious never went to law school. But, you’re thinking, so far, so predictable. Where’s the interesting idea?
As that dream faded, my dreaming brain remembered that not only might I use this in a book, but that I had already written a series of crime novels. I remember feeling very proud of my achievement. I could even see those books in my mind, set out in a neat row.
You know that half-awake state when the dream dissipates? It was in that state as regular consciousness emerged, that I had, in fact, not written a crime series.
Here’s the genius bit.
Before the dream could go, my semiconscious brain forced my attention back on the line of books. Pay attention. Look at them. Remember what they’re about.
“Revenge is Served”.
Just three words. And yes, I know people aren’t supposed to be able to see writing in dreams. Tell that to my subconscious. But those three words were just the tiny fragments I needed. Revenge - not murder. I had a strong feeling that these dream books were cosy crimes, so cosy that nothing violent would be involved. I also knew that each story would be built around a different act of revenge - and now I have my serial template.
That idea, fuelled by many cups of black Early Grey tea, grew over the following week. A character name I’d had in the memory locker from years ago finally stepped onto the page, accompanied by a newly arrived silly name that just appealed to me as her little brother. I had my detective, a sidekick and a motive. Now I just needed locations, methods, miscreants and a cast of slightly ludicrous suspects.
And I’ve chosen a great audience for imagination and creativity, 7-11. They get it. They see the potential for fun in everything, and the imagination to roll with a detective of their own age solving the problems of all those absurd adults. Allow me to introduce Anna Crumble!