I’ve recently been reading a book called Ink and Bone, about which I will write a book review as soon as I’ve finished it. (Keep your eyes peeled for a blog post titled Book Blab!) In it, the main characters who work at the Great Library are constantly writing in their journals. They might use it to vent about their day, or scribble down theories and plans.
I’ve struggled for years to keep a journal, but I liked the way this sounded. Write whatever you feel that day! I could write about something I don’t want to forget (like a funny quote or my grocery list), write a scene that won’t get out of my head but doesn’t fit in a story, or write about “feelings” and similar things.
I wrote this on December 31st, just before the new year. (If you think it sounds at all mature or dramatic, I’ll have you know that I wrote it with a Sonic Screwdriver while wearing llama pajama pants.)
I wonder what fuels inspiration.
One moment, I’m struggling with every other phrase, and the next my fingers glide as images, music and soul all pour from my mind.
I’m inspired by ink and leather and memories stolen from the long-gone. I’m inspired by the culture of society’s heathens, and the heathens of society’s cultured. By time, places, people, as well as art’s pale imitation of them and the caricatures that paint them all the more vibrantly.
I am inspired when emotion takes a form, however brazen or subtle. I am inspired by the fantastic, and the things so real that I can taste them, like one has pointed out my breathing.
The exclusive, the universal. The beautiful, the treacherous. The exotic, the commonplace.
What am I not inspired by?
Of course, I later went on to rail on 2016 and place a few tentative hopes for 2017, but I think that bit will resonate with most authors. I thought I’d throw it out here, in all it’s Sonic-ed and llama glory.
Have a fantastic new year!