Rumination 8

I don’t know how other writers get ideas for their books/tv shows/movies/comics; I realized some time ago, that I don’t really care. Why? Because their methods are not mine, they only work for them.
No one can teach you how to write. Sure, you can learn the turns of phrase, proper syntax, those devices that made English boring. Devices many writers won’t admit that we weren’t aware we were using. A writer is separated by their ideas. Everything else becomes important after they get that idea.
My ideas come to me like aches. It tears through my psyche, leaving behind a ravaged mind that would give a great deal to live in that world. A world that hadn’t existed hours ago.
These ideas only come once or twice in a decade.
But the pain it brings is almost enough to sink me into a depression. Almost.
The fact that I can write all of it down saves me. If I couldn’t write, I don’t know how I would deal with the instant feeling of not belonging. Not belonging to the world, being in a nightmare: going to sleep and expecting to wake up in the world my mind invented.
But everyday I wake up in this place. Everyday in the same place.
When another writer can make me feel that way about their world, it only showcases their talent. And every time I read something by them, I go to sleep wanting to wake up in their imagined place. But I never do.
It’s why I write, to go to those worlds in the daylight.

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