Generating Story Ideas

I am a long-time fan of Writing Excuses. In fact, that podcast deserves its own post, it's been that important to me.

To attempt a metaphor, it really has been the difference between running in an occasional 5k for fun or exercise versus being on the cross-country team with a coach making me do drills and train for better times at longer distances. That makes perfect sense to me, but it boils down to going from "wanting to be a writer" to actually getting the training and doing the hard work of learning how to write.

Starting in Season 10 of the now 8-year-old podcast (they're writers, not mathematicians), the 'casters begin running the show "like a master class in genre fiction," complete with homework assignments. I'm not one to pass up a free master class, especially if I can get it from writers that I admire and respect. So this is my effort at keeping up with the homework.

The homework assignment for Episode 1 and my completed answers are below. Feel free to steal these and become famous! I just ask that when you get published and make it big, you leave a comment below and tell me the name of your book so I can go buy it :)

Write down five different story ideas in 150 words or less. Generate these ideas from these five sources:

1. From an interview or conversation you’ve had
2. From research you’ve done (reading science news, military history, etc)
3. From observation (go for a walk!)
4. From a piece of media (watch a movie)
5. From a piece of music (with or without lyrics)

Generating Story Ideas:

1. Brandon Sanderson talks about how he worked one or two rather inconsequential jobs while he practiced his writing and wrote like a dozen novels. His story goes on to him becoming a published and very successful author who quit working to write full-time. I think there's a story about a person who takes the small-time job and does the writing, even getting his books published and making some money at it, but never gets to the level that he "quits the day job." Twenty years later, he's a multiple-time published author with many fans (maybe not millions) who is still writing, but now he's twenty years into a lackluster career. He interviews for a job and the hiring manager says, "Look, you're not the most qualified guy for the job, but I really can't pass up the opportunity to be working with the author of "Taste of Glass" (or whatever his big book is called)."

2. I read an article about trans-human evolution--fascinating stuff postulating that man, as we now are, is not the culmination of the evolutionary ladder. Which would make sense if the supposed primordial ooze's ultimate destination was a Grey-like being with vast intellect and minuscule muscularity. But what if mankind was never God's intended apex species? Like the dinosaurs who "ruled the earth" while unevolved man was swinging in the trees, what if man is just the sitting ruler of a planet destined for something that is still on its evolutionary path?

3. It's not new, but I'm often fascinated with the idea that some of the little houses, shacks, cottages I see might just be the clever camouflage of a much larger, obviously clandestine, structure buried beneath the ground. With a network of surface structures serviced by long, rapidly moving, omni-directional elevators. Controlled by a rival government faction.

4. I watch no TV and few movies, but I read Scalzi's "Old Man's War" and, recognizing the heavy borrowing from Starship Troopers, imagined a new rewriting of the now-tropey "see the universe, blow it up" storyline. Facing the cliche overpopulation of Earth, now the recruits travel to the far reaches to colonize populate-able planets via a Star Gate/Teraport that is, surprise, actually a virtual matter translator. The humans are being decoded into virtual humans in a Matrix-style computer-simulation of the universe where they are led to "think" they are fighting aliens, but in truth, are merely experiencing a matter-compression process designed to free up space on the organism-sustaining hard drive that is planet earth.

5. A song I like right now but do not understand at all is About a Girl by The Academy Is... 

One song about a girlCan't breathe when I'm around herI wait here every dayIn case she'll scratch the surfaceShe'll never notice 

I'm not in loveThis is not my heartI'm not gonna waste these wordsAbout a girl

I have to assume that these lyrics refer to the singer's predicament of finding a beautiful girl trapped beneath the surface of the pond behind his house and are an effort to explain his dilemma of not being able to hold his breath for more than about 31 seconds, not to mention his inability to speak under water, wasting his breath trying to garble unintelligibly to the pond nymph in his backyard.

Oh, I just watched the music video here and realize that I was way off. Couldn't have been more wrong. I really though I had this one.

Now What Should I Be Doing?

I am in a weird place. For so long I have always had this one huge, indomitable project pressing on my shoulders and nagging my subconscious. Well, this weekend, Saturday morning to be precise, at about 4 AM, I decided that I had finished my novel. I closed my laptop and went to bed. I slept really well.

A few hours later, I got up and made breakfast. My poor wife is sick, so she did not play into these scenes. I fed and entertained our children. I took them to the park, and then to McDonald's. We had a nice enjoyable day. That afternoon, back at home, I was sitting with my wife. I was holding her hand. She looked miserable. I said, "I don't know if this means a whole lot to you, but I have to tell you... I finished my novel."

She may have nodded. She may have just been sleepy. She said, "That's great." Then she asked if I could take care of dinner. I totally get where she's coming from. I finished writing. That's great. Now what?

Time to unleash it on the world, right? Well, at least a few innocent, unsuspecting friends. I made a short list of the people that I know who I would trust with something like this. People that I'd shared my secret with, some of them only very recently. And I emailed them the Word doc and asked if they would read it.

It feels so odd to be done and now, just to be in the waiting phase. In fact, it was so weird, that I stayed up all night on Sunday and made mountains of edits! Then, I emailed out the new revised version to my involuntary beta readers on Monday morning. Now I'm just in the waiting phase... so how come I keep re-reading parts of my manuscript?

Self-diagnosing Insomnia

I never get enough sleep. I was falling asleep at 9-ish when we put the kids to bed, then I laid down for the night by 10:30 (my target bedtime) and lay awake-ish until after midnight. My mind was replaying the day: thinking about my Sunday School lesson, which I was able to recall in surprising detail, thinking about what I’d said to people at my uncle’s announcement of his pancreatic cancer, thinking about how I would market Leadgenix, thinking about how Dr. Everett would present his findings on the decline of the Maya. It was a jumble of vivid, important-feeling thoughts going through my head.

My wife was fast asleep not 3 feet away. I wondered if her being there was keeping me up--like the light coming in around the blinds that I know is there even with my eyes closed. Out of respect for her blissful dreaming, I felt her presence weighing on me, pushing against me, driving me to curl up at the very edge of the mattress, the furthest point on the bed from her. It was after midnight when I finally got up, went downstairs, got a drink of water, and spent the rest of the night struggling for sleep in the guest room. 

It was a poor night’s sleep, I know that. And I was awake again around 5:30 and walked back up to my bed. She asked if I’d been up all night when I came in and I answered that I’d slept downstairs. I felt guilt in my voice as I added, “I just sleep better down there,” as though I had been up to something. I really don’t understand why I can’t get a good night’s sleep. I have this general sense of anxiety, especially on Sunday nights, that makes me think it might be work-related. But I don’t really have that stressful of a job. I’m not sure why I lie awake at night…

Heroic Stereotypes

Just watched a TEDx by Colin Stokes where he explains that Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz wins the fight with evil by being nice to everyone and being a leader (incidentally, of a team of men). Dorothy was not the hero of the story because she was the best at fighting or using a special power or type of magic. 

I agree with Stokes on this. Movies and pop fiction are often sending the wrong message: “Is a hero’s job to defeat the villain and collect his reward (that is usually a woman who has no friends and doesn’t talk)?”

That last bit in parentheses is a reference to the Bechdel Test that most movies fail.

Bechdel Test - 1. Are there 2 women with names and lines? 2. Do they talk to each

other? 3. About something other than a man.

Among Stokes' conclusions was this: “A real man is someone who trusts and respects women and stands up against a real bad guy (that wants to hurt women).” That is the kind of leadership people need to see. 

He also says this about Obi Wan: He knows more than anyone else and shares that knowledge.

Stokes assigns some of the problems he identifies to Joseph Campbell and “The Mono-myth” - The Hero’s Journey from The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Stokes notes that the hero is typically white, male, straight, and able-bodied. The truth of his words is powerful. http://youtu.be/OyM-2_5cmkA

Loneliness and a Dream

I am sitting alone in the dark, as I often am. I have “work” to do that I’m not doing. I have put aside this bit of time so that I can finish my novel, but I am having trouble knowing where to work, what to add, how to really get it done. 

I wrote most of this about three years ago. I wrote some of this about 10 years ago! Holding a novel in one's head is surprisingly hard work. I feel too tired or scattered to unravel all of the pieces I’ve put down for three different books and which parts I’ve told or changed or plan on telling later. It’s a surprisingly intense mental effort. I don’t really know if I have a reason for why, but I just want this book to be great and to sell and to have someone tell me it was worth writing. It would mean a lot.

A Matter of Perspective

It's amazing how much difference a little bit of time makes. Here's a blog post I started writing two months ago: 

September 5th, 2013 - I have a secret. I am meant to write novels. I have been hiding my secret so that I could support my family. I actually don’t like the fact that I want to write. I don’t want to turn into a writer. I’ve met people who say they’re writing a novel and they make me sad. I’m in a form of denial, not realizing that I am holding onto the same sad dream.

For so long, I have had the voice in my head that told me I would write. Whenever I heard about a new successful author, or read a new book, or discussed books being made into movies, I heard that voice: “I could do this.” “This isn’t that great.” or “This guy is getting paid for this?”

I have so much self-doubt. I wonder why I’m doing this. I wonder why I think that I could do this. I have failed at things before. Why wouldn’t I fail at this, too?

My definition of success has to keep changing. It was about money. Then it was about fame or prestige. Then it became a matter of escape or freedom. Now it is a matter of survival. I can’t face 35 more years of trying to hold a job working at some company for some sort of boss for a paycheck and PTO.

Right now, I am living the story I will tell. And if it’s sad and tragic, that’s only because it’s such a good story.

Church is the Drill

What if the Church is like a language primer, giving you exercises and programs that exist to teach you the structure, the sound, or the feeling of living a life centered on Christ, just as you would be given phrases to repeat and worksheets to write out until you get the feeling of the structure, sound, and feeling of a new language? Then, the goal of the church is not to make people who have their Duty to God awards (or Personal Progress medallions), but to create people who understand how to serve God and what it feels like to give to our fellow man.

About getting a PhD, I once thought, focusing on getting the degree and finishing grad school is like taking pride in shopping for a really great drill. I want to do my homework, I want the drill to be the right drill for the job, I need to know what it was designed to do and how to use it, but I went out to purchase that drill so that I could build with it. The shed in my yard, the new shelves in the garage, and the numerous tasks around the house that needed the tool are the reason that I bought the drill. Buying the drill was not an end in itself, but a specific tool to help me achieve the real end. In marketing, we say that when a man buys a drill, he's actually buying the holes it makes-- this is the distinction between the benefit and the product.

Church is the drill. It is the PhD program. It is the training wheels for what we're trying to eventually do with our lives-- the real end to be achieved. For me, the real end is nothing less than to live the gospel of Jesus Christ. In ward conference, President Gordon said, "Our mission is to help God bring to pass his work and his glory. The gospel is to love and to serve."

That is lovely and simple, but it is still too vague. If I asked 100 people what it means to love and serve, I'd get 100 different answers. So that is why most everything else in the Church exists-- to help us correctly interpret and understand that most simple statement of the church. Christ gave his answer to the plotting question of a lawyer:

“Master, which is the great commandment in the law?“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.“This is the first and great commandment.“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.“On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets” Matthew 22:36–40

Love God and love our neighbor. It's that simple. And how do we love God?

“He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father” John 14:21

Keeping the commandments is loving God. Obedience to God is loving God. Loving our neighbor is loving God. The Church's goal becomes to show us how to love and show us how to serve.

Getting My Dream Job

Well, over a week ago I found the job that I really want to get. It fits with my experience, it fits with my career goals, even the salary is right on. So how do I get it?

I have submitted my resume, I wrote them a nice cover letter explaining, quite clearly, why I was the right person for the job. And then I never heard from them. So I started researching "How do I get the job I want." Most of the answers I found on the internet were telling people how to find out what job they really wanted. They would ask questions like, "what are your hobbies or interests?" "what would you do for free?" "And what did you want to be when you grow up?"

Well, these questions were quite a few steps back from where I needed to be. I was looking for information more along the lines of "do you know someone who works at the company you want to work for?" or "when is it okay to just show up to an office and hang out?"

Instead, I decided to answer the questions to figure out what my dream job might be. My hobbies and interests relate back to reading--I am very into Brandon Sanderson right now, along with my ongoing quest to read everything by C.S. Lewis--and writing, especially fiction, whenever I get the chance.

As far as what I would do for free, the answer was similar. A lot of my reading is unpaid, of course. I love to follow long, esoteric rabbit holes of research across the internet, like the history of the toquilla straw hat, and I would gladly do this kind of reading for free! And although I get paid for most of my writing, things like my novel and this blog are "work" that I do for free.

Finally, what did I want to be when I grew up--this one is an essay question because it depends when you asked me. At a very young age, 8 or 10, I remember wanting to be a scientist that worked in a lab. I don't really know where that came from. For a long period of my early teenage years, I was very into comic books and would have said it would be my dream job to draw comics for a living. It wasn't until much later that I learned that there were writers who did little or no drawing, like Chris Claremont and Alan Moore. In high school, like most other teenage boys, I guess, I wanted to make video games. But underneath, or maybe within, each of those, I really wanted to write stories.

In college I went from being an art major, to a communications major, to a business major. I got my first job in sales and marketing. I got my MBA with a focus in marketing, my MS in business, and worked for the past 8 years in marketing and advertising, but I never really did what I thought I wanted to do. It's more like I've done what I needed to do to get and keep a job. I've done what I could get paid to do. Then I just kind of told myself that what I was doing was what I "wanted" to do.

So, no, I'm not really sure that I found my dream job after all.

Prologue to The Talismans of Sumer - Part 1

I may change every word of this, but here is the prologue for my novel "The Talismans of Sumer." I am very open to feedback at this point, since I am just setting up the story and characters in this part. I split it into 2 posts, so this is Part 1. Part 2 is here.

Chichen Itzá, Yucatan Peninsula – 1190 AD 

Zamná was faster than the other scouts, so he was the first to arrive at the walls of the city. He moved silently, quickly, from one shadow to the next until he lay on his belly, concealed on a low rise just a stone’s throw from the gates of Chichen Itzá. His trained eyes pierced the darkness of the early morning and made out the gathering army of the Itzás through the city gate. Dawn had not yet come and the city was dimly lit by scattered torches. He began counting the heads of the warriors illuminated by the torchlight, estimating the vast army in groups of 100, then 500, then groups of one thousand. His eyes scoured over their bright armor, their gleaming feathers, and their wood and iron weapons, identifying each by their dress, their weapon, and the numbers of their feathers as either a warrior, chief, archer, or priest. 

He rechecked his calculations and then drew a message pad from his belt pouch. He scrawled the numbers with his charcoal pencil onto the soft bark of the pad.  

7,500 Warriors 

3,000 Archers 

1,500 Priests 

80 Chiefs  

Zamná did not see the high chief of Chichen Itzá or his foul high priest, the demon Hapay Can. He replaced the pad in his belt and rose slowly, silently from his hiding place. Zamná would rush back as he had come, moving quickly over the miles of rain forest to rejoin the army of his people on their march to Chichen Itzá. He would be the first scout to present the morning’s information to Hunac Ceel, the lord of Mayapán and Ah Mex Cuc, the Jaguar Priest.

Zamná had taken only a few steps when he heard a branch snap somewhere nearby. He froze in his tracks at the unmistakable sound of another human in the rain forest. The sound came again, closer, of more undergrowth being kicked aside by men. Not the silent movements of a fellow scout, but the heavy, booted steps of warriors. Zamná looked around for a chance to escape using his greatest weapon, his speed, but he was at the edge of the forest, and the warriors were between him and his own army. Next, he heard the sound he dreaded most, the soft, almost indiscernible footfall of a trained scout. He whirled in place, his small knife flashing up to defend himself, but he was too late. Zamná was surrounded. Three scouts wearing the insignia of the Itzá stood before him, splayed out to prevent him from running. He heard the stomping boots come to a halt behind him.

“Drop your weapon, Scout,” said a coarse voice.

Zamná let his knife fall to the ground and then turned slowly to face the warrior who had spoken. He was a big man, with eagle feathers tied to his arms and hair. He was flanked by two more warriors and an archer wearing the shimmering green feathers of the quetzal.

“What are you doing here at the walls of Chichen Itzá?” the warrior demanded. 

Zamná relied on his training. He looked defiantly into the eyes of the Itzá warrior. Three warriors, three scouts and one archer, he realized he had been ambushed by their border patrol, and it was far more than he was prepared to fight against alone. Still, he would give them no answers, no warning about the army of Mayapán that was even now descending upon them. 

One of the scouts spoke, “He wears the Jade Arrow, see his talisman?” He pointed at the dark green arrowhead hanging from Zamná’s necklace. “He is an elite scout of Mayapán, home of our enemy Hunac Ceel.” 

“Is this true, Scout?” asked the first warrior. “Are you a spy for our enemy at Mayapán?” Zamná still said nothing. 

“Be careful, Tzuco,” a second warrior said to the first, “I hear that the Jade Arrow are powerful spies, possessed with dark magic.” 

Tzuco scoffed. “Dark magic?” 

But the second warrior continued, “Magic that makes them move silently, disappear into the darkness, and…” he gulped, “and summon the jaguar.” 

Tzuco looked slightly less bold as he turned back to the calm face of Zamná. “Are you a Jade Arrow, Scout? Is this true that you can use dark magic?” 

Zamná returned a level stare at the warrior and answered, “I am Jade Arrow.” 

The other warriors stepped back a little, but Tzuco held his ground. “Well,” he began laughing, “I believe your only power is in frightening my patrol! If you had dark magic, we would not have caught you. Besides, you are one and we are seven. And we are within a cry of our fortress city, while you are miles away from Mayapán and any possible help.”
Tzuco paused in his reasoning and waited to see its effect. Zamná appeared unphased, but the other Itzás seemed to summon new courage.

A scout spoke for the first time. “Jade Arrow, we have magic, too. Do you not know that we serve the great king Chac-xib-chac who can summon Hapay Can?” 

“I have seen the god Hapay Can, Scout,” added Tzuco, glaring menacingly at Zamná. He is a terrifying serpent, black and shimmering and twice the height of a man.” He pointed at Zamná’s chest. “And he will draw your heart right out through your chest and devour it!”
Zamná remained silent for a moment. He knew the dawn was coming and the attack of Mayapán against Chichen Itzá would be soon after. He regretted that he would be unable to pass his report on to Hunac Ceel. But he drew himself up and made a valiant last stand. 

“I do not fear your high chief or his god Hapay Can, the sucking snake!” he could see his words filled the warriors with rage, but Zamná continued, “I serve a greater chief, and his magician, the Jaguar Priest Ah Mex Cuc is far greater than Chac-xib-chac and even Hapay Can. Your people will cower and plead for mercy against the armies of Mayapán and the Jaguar Priest!” 

Tzuco shouted as he finished, “Grab him! Let us take him before Lord Chac-xib-chac!”

Continued here:  http://shawnthoughts.blogspot.com/9070259081904092572

Prologue to The Talismans of Sumer - Part 2

This is Part 2 of the prologue for the novel I'm trying to write. The working title is "The Talismans of Sumer" and it explores the common mythology of a half dozen ancient cultures. Comments and feedback welcome. These are the first of my writings I've ever posted on my blog. Part 1 is here.

Continued from Part 1:

The two other warriors stepped forward in obedience, but then stopped. A soft whisking sound, like branches in a breeze, came from all around them. One of the scouts behind Zamná cried out in agony and Zamná saw a streak of sleek black fur blur past him. A second blur showed a dark mass tackle the archer who was frantically trying to raise his bow. 

Tzuco looked from Zamná to a point just over Zamná’s shoulder and then cried out in terror. The cry was drowned out by a ferocious roar. Zamná spun around and looked up into the open jaws of a jaguar. The great cat was enormous with huge glistening teeth. Its dark black fur shined in the breaking dawn and it leaped at Zamná from its perch in the tree. Zamná dropped quickly to the forest floor, instinctively throwing his hands up to protect himself, only to see the enormous bulk of the jaguar sail over him and land on Tzuco, knocking him to the ground. The cat snarled again and the other warriors took to the forest as quickly as they could. Zamná saw dark forms overtake them in just a few steps as other jaguars pounced from the trees. 

Zamná held still, curled in a ball, for a few moments longer, listening to the snarls of jaguars and the cries of fallen warriors. As the sounds drifted past him, he rose slowly and looked around. He was safe and alone. Miraculously, none of his captors remained and none of the jaguars seemed interested in him. He dropped to his knees and breathed out, “I’m alive!” 

The next sound he heard brought a smile to his face. It was the seashell trumpets of Hunac Ceel signaling the approach of the army of Mayapán. Zamná rushed back to the overlook where he had jotted his report and looked down again at the city, this time making no effort to hide. He could feel the beat of the approaching drums beneath the peal of the trumpets. The Mayapán army was approaching, just making their appearance into the cleared area surrounding Chichen Itzá.

Zamná looked down at the city and gasped. The army he had seen massing before was now in chaos as their warriors scrambled to cover the walls and defend the city gates. Everywhere he looked, Zamná saw claws and fur approaching the city. Thousands of jaguars, some black and some gold with spots, were pouring down from the jungle. They were surrounding the city. They were climbing the walls. They were leaping at the guards who seemed too terrified to defend themselves. 

The sound of trumpets and drums was soon thundering in his ears. Just a few hundred yards from where he stood, Zamná saw the approaching army of Hunac Ceel. The early morning sun illuminated a sedan chair at the front of the army being carried by the two largest jaguars Zamná had ever seen. On the sedan chair stood Ah Mex Cuc, the Jaguar Priest of Mayapán. His arms were raised and he wore a look of intense concentration on his face, but the most striking part of his appearance was the powerful glow of deep green energy that surrounded him, emanating from a gold talisman hanging around his neck. The army came to a halt outside the city gates and the 5,000 warriors of Mayapán watched raptly as the hordes of jaguars coursed around them, surging into the city. 

Zamná watched a tall warrior in golden armor with long brilliant feathers climb onto the sedan chair beside Ah Mex Cuc. He began shouting. 

“Chac-xib-chac of Chichen Itzá!” he cried. “I am Hunac Ceel, ruler of Mayapán!” His voice echoed through the city and came clearly to Zamná’s ears. “My army stands at your gates, and the minions of my Jaguar Priest, Ah Mex Cuc, are ready to lay waste to your city.” Hunac Ceel paused and waited for his words to echo away. “I demand your surrender.” 

Zamná’s gaze was pulled back to the city where a mass of archers and warriors on a balcony above the front gate made way. The mass split apart for five men wearing the masks and headdress of the rain god to stand alone, then one among them, the tallest and darkest-skinned walked to the front. He wore a fierce snake-fanged helmet and carried a giant black spear carved at the top with a statue of the lightning god. 

“I am Chac-xib-chac!” he shouted down from the balcony. “I hear your words and see your army at my gates. Your small army,” he added, looking past the hordes of jaguars and staring right at Hunac Ceel. “I know not what magic brings the mighty jaguars to your aid, but I demand to know why you have come out against us in battle.” 

Hunac Ceel waited a moment, and then responded, “Chac-xib-chac, you know well the reason that I am here. Your people have taken the wife of our ally from Uxmal. We have come to rescue her and to spill your blood. Surrender your city, return the princess of Uxmal, and come captive with us. Surrender willingly and we will pay you the great honor of being sacrificed to the jaguar god.” 

Chac-xib-chac lifted his obsidian spear over his head and shouted at Hunac Ceel. “I am the ruler of Chichen Itzá and high chief of this great army. I will never surrender to you!” The army of the Itzás shouted and banged their weapons against their shields in agreement.
When it again grew quiet, Hunac Ceel gestured at the city before him. “Very well, Chac-xib-chac,” he said quietly, then he shouted, “I am the ruler of Mayapán and the lord of the jaguars. Look upon me, Chichen Itzá, and see your conqueror.”

He turned to Ah Mex Cuc and said a few hasty words. The Jaguar Priest lifted the large golden talisman and the green glow intensified around him. Now, flashing bursts of power like thunderclaps made the soldiers nearest to him wince. 

The legions of jaguars roared in unison and poured into the city of Chichen Itzá.

Well, there it is. What I've got so far. I'm going for a strong start that briefly introduces the magic system of the talismans and some of the historical research that will support the main story. I want it to be compelling enough to bring the reader in and get him through the first few chapters until I have good momentum. Comments and feedback welcome!