Sunday Scribblings: Ideas

Ideas are writing's life blood, and for me, they come in questions. I wonder if. . . . I wonder why. . . . I wonder how. . . . Curiosity come to life.

I vaguely remember in the book What Dreams May Come when the author said all art, all writing exists complete in the Universe somewhere. The person who produces it doesn't so much create it as tap into its vibration and then translate it for others to experience. That makes sense to me because it's only when I open myself that the ideas flow, only when I let go of my self-criticism and self-consciousness that the words come freely.

When ideas and words do arrive, I'm often surprised by them. I can't count the times a solution has presented itself to me, an idea truly beyond my ability to think up or create. Sometimes phrases appear, surprising me with their beauty or their aptness. When I'm deliberately constructing sentences or painstakingly producing ideas, the result is usually acceptable—workmanlike and orderly. But when I cast orderliness to the winds, throw open the doors of my heart and mind, stretch my arms wide and dance with the pulse of the earth, I'm sometimes carried by an idea, swept along by its current, lit by its energy.

It's the reason I write: to ride the tail of that kite now and again.

For more on ideas, go to Sunday Scribblings.