Wednesday, November 10, 2004

The Land of "Where-You-Get-Your-Ideas."

Y'know, as a writer, I find that people always ask me the same question over and over: "Where do you get your ideas?" Well, alright, no one's ever asked me that, but I expect them to one day, dammit, and I will tell them the same thing I tell everyone: "I get them from the same place you get your ideas... you know, that tiny little leprechaun that lives in your ear canal and whispers sweet somethings to you when you least expect it! Now, I'd filed to get a new leprechaun... the one responsible for stuff like the light bulb, the spork, Abbey Road, and Bob Dole, but instead I'm saddled with the one that came up with the Macarena, Donald Trump's Hairstyle, and that abomination known only as 'tofurkey'..."
But c'mon, everyone has ideas. Just because I label myself as a writer doesn't mean my ideas are more important than yours (even though we all know they are) or more pronounced, or bigger, or anything... I mean, when you think to feed the fish so they don't turn upside down and float about for a week until your neighbor's cat manages to sneak in at night and eat them, well, that's an idea, the same as Grant Morrison's idea to update the Scissorman from a fairy tale as a cadre of dark science-fantasy characters in Doom Patrol (more on that someday, probably).
Ideas come, of course, when you least expect them to, so you should try to expect the unexpected at all times. The slightest idea from an English lecture, a nuance from a line of dialogue, random words being thrown together on the wall like they were spaghetti... any of those can produce a new and intriguing idea in my head. No one's quite sure how the brain works. At least, I'm not sure how it works, and no one's told me, so therefore I deduce that no one knows. It's an amazing yet terrible (in the scary Biblical sense) device, isn't it? Each of us with a portal to the fifth dimension just lounging about in our skulls. Makes you wonder...
Now if you'll excuse me, there's something gnawing on my eardrum, and I'm fairly certain my hair will never be the same again.

I shall leave you with the thought of the day:
"Boogers are like pearls, except in your nose."

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