I'm often asked where I get my inspiration from. And my asnwer is always the same; How can I not?
I mean, look at the world around us. Go on, go look out your window. Even if all you see is grey buildings and rain, it's a story waiting to happen.
How? you might ask, and that is a bit more tricky.
When I walk down a street, and see a guy in say a big hoodie, walking close to the buildings, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his eyes firmly fixed on the road, my mind instantly says, "Hmmm what could be the reason for him walking like that?" and instead of jumbing to the conclusion that he is probably listening to music and on his way home from work, feeling tired and not wanting to deal with the mass of tourists, my mind jumps to a million scenarios.
Is he hiding something? Maybe he's running from something? Is he afraid? Scared? Hurt?
From there it's an easy jump to a bit of story building.
Maybe the guy lived on the streets? Maybe he got pulled into running drugs for a warm place to stay? Maybe he got in deep and saw shit he would have given his left nut to unsee? Maybe he is finally trying to get away so he can build a new life? From there, it's easy running.
Peter lost his mother when he was fifteen. The father had never been in the picture, and Peter didn't even have a name to go with the title. The state put him in foster care, but when he ran off the third time he got lost between the cracks. At fifteen his choices where limited. Join a gang, or sell you ass and Peter wasn't going to sell his ass to any creeps. At first it had been easy. Run some drugs in exchange for a warm corner to sleep and some food once in a while. Then he was put on a corner near a school and started selling. He was young enough to mix with the other kids. But then, six months ago, everything had gone wrong. He had stumbled upon his boss killing some dude. Fuck, he wished he had never seen that. 6 months of keeping his mouth shut. 6 months of fearing someone would put a bullet between his eyes every night. He couldn't take it anymore. Maybe selling his ass would be better on the long run.
There, now you have the beginning of a story. of course, a story isn't a story if it doesn't have some kind of plot.
But in the roughest state, a plot is nothing more than a few bulletpoints leading the story along. And really, this happens all the time. Walking in the forest I imagin a hidden city, or some creature hiding between the trees. Going to the sea, I imagine going on some great adventure to strange places. Seeing people on the street, I imagine stories for each of them.
I cannot stop ideas and inspiration to fill my mind everywhere I go.
Maybe that's what makes me a writer. Maybe it's just the way my brain sees the world. I don't have the answers to those questions, but i know that I never run out of inspiration for stories to write.
Have a great day
A writer's life
This is the blog where a slightly crazy author writes rambling posts about everything and nothing. There's posts about my books, writing and social media. Posts about cooking and reviews. And there's posts about life and the challenges I have set myself in 2019.
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