I still suffer from this problem, [spoiler] even as I’m telling you it’s a bullshit problem [/spoiler]…but I’m working on it.
Whenever I have a “strange” idea (most days), I first cackle to myself, then scribble it down somewhere (notebook, hand, wall), and then leave it to ferment for a while.
Sometimes I’ll forget about the flash of creativeness and it will rest dormant, tucked away in the folios of a disregarded and neglected notepad. Maybe I’ll bin the pad, mistakenly thinking it to be empty or rubbish, or maybe I’ll find the random notes months later, screw my face up in confusion and say “what the hell does ‘milk chickens from 24/18 with emphasis on fortitude’ mean??”
But sometimes…sometimes the mad though won’t stray far from the forefront of my mind; it circles past my eyes every couple of days, causing more cackles, more scribbles, and eventually the intense desire to turn it into a story.
So I grab a pencil and a notebook, turn on my laptop, grab a cuppa, crack my knuckles, and dive into the absurdity that is a thought from my brain…
…and then I get lost.
I don’t plan far enough ahead, or the tale starts to take strange detours down even stranger paths, or perhaps I’ll find myself unable to sustain the weirdness of the original thought and find myself slipping into clichés and tropes.
Whatever the reason, the idea is shelved and I move onto a new one.
It happens A LOT! And I hate myself for it.
But why do I stray away from the weird and the wonderful? I pride myself on my peculiarities, my nonsense ramblings, and yearning to speak in a Russian accent and in 3rd person at 4am while I’m annoying my other half. My favourite stories are weird and wonderful and bizarre, my favourite authors write bat shit crazy novels and short stories that defy logic and rationality.
Why the hell should I (we) be any different?
If you want to write weird, then write weird, you crayon-munching motherfuckers! Write for yourself, write for Dennis – your imaginary talking unicorn, and write for the authors that inspired you into dancing with madness and trying to cop a feel of its arse while you do the lambada!
Stay weirds, dudes!