Stories revolve in my head for a long time until they naturally fall like a ripe fruit from a tree. Other times it feels like they’re writing themselves, like they’re coming out of nowhere. But they aren’t. They stem from life, experience, travel, observation of reality and people.
As a child, I used to see them as films, or even songs. Sometimes as both, looking like music videos. They started automatically in my head. What a pity they normally “aired” during rides in my parents’ car, and never when pen and paper where at hand. At the time, every journey seemed long, due to a child’s different perception of time. Lack of distraction from digital gadgets (blessed be the Eighties!) was what unleashed the mind. Today we have forgotten what real boredom is: the useful, productive dullness that eventually triggered great ideas. Cavemen knew exactly what I’m talking about.
I could read to kill time, but gazing at a page while everything else around me was twirling made me car sick. So, I often found myself roaming. I would end up in strange places, while some captivating adventure went by my window. What is inspiration? For me, it’s seeing a detail in everyday life that makes you say: “This is something I could build a story around”. Because reality can be dull, and I want it to veer off, so that it will look more like the films, books, or songs that entertain me when I’m bored.
Sure you got it by now: stories come from boredom.