Letting Go of Ideas
Is there an appropriate time to kill an idea?
That precious kernel I’ve spent months cherishing; is it one of those darlings that William Faulkner wants me to take out behind the barn and make sure it never bothers anyone again? Or maybe not kill it, but slap it around and convince it to change its ways?
As a writer, I can admit to having learned one thing about myself over the past two years: I have a hard time letting go of my initial sparks. I carry the hot coals and kindling around in a tiny bucket, looking for the right spot to give it a permanent home so it can ignite into a radiant fire.
For months, I traverse the world of my imagination, noting that each day the burden of the bucket grows and that my spine begins to take on a pre-homo erectus curve.
I don’t want to utterly obliterate another idea. I’m tired of doing that.
No, I refuse. I’ve decided that I need to deconstruct it. I can feel that many of the elements for a good story are there. They’re just not put together correctly. I can’t fix the whole, but I can part it out and make something better.