I’ve been waking up the past few days from dreams I can’t remember with a sense of purpose and enlightenment. Not with a capital ‘E,’ but rather small flashes of insight. Two days ago that insight revolved around death, and today it had to do with creativity.
David Lynch talks about “catching the big fish,” how you have to meditate and go deep into your consciousness to find ideas. That’s great. I do that. But the thought I woke up with was ‘why do I have to stick to one lake?’
I’ve been listening to Hit Makers on Audible. It’s about what makes art popular. Short answer: familiarity with just a hint of surprise.
Familiarity. There is an infinitely deep verticality to the human mind, but we’re missing something if we ignore the equally infinite horizontality of different human minds.
Templates. Old books. Old movies. Stories found on the internet. It is all grist for the mill. There is something ugly about plagiarism, but less so when you pull out the skeleton and add your own meat.
Different lakes. Why spend all that time coming up with every aspect of your novel?