Where does it come from?

The question is one that is asked of writers often, and has been blogged, articled and talked about endlessly.  To me it seems a little navel-gazing-like, but because I was asked the question in relation to Please, Lover Dear, I need to answer it here.  Where do story ideas come from for me?

I’ll answer with the only one whose development I can clearly remember.  Out cycling one day I idly wondered what my bicycle’s name was.  Because it’s a men’s bike, I knew it would have to be a guy’s name.  I instantly decided not to name him, because it would sound a little odd.  After all, you ride a bicycle…

The bike decided otherwise and whispered into my mind: My name is Ronan. Right.  So if I ever tell you I rode Ronan for several hours, you’ll know what I mean.

Giggling about this to myself like some sort of deranged maniac, my unruly grey matter turned itself to the possibility that Ronan enjoyed our trips as much as I did.  What if he was a spirit trapped in the metal and rubber, who lived through my joy?  I had a weird sense of a presence bubbled around me, face turned to the sea-scented wind whipping by us, swirling and laughing in temporary freedom.

So how did he get into the bike?

And it went from there.  However, the final product bears no relation whatsoever to the kernel that gave birth to it.  Stories come from chance encounters, from personal feelings, from things I wonder about.  No single thing can be traced as the root of the story, the above kernel of an idea is exceptional in the clarity with which I remember it.  The origins of the other seven books I wrote this year are utterly lost, I couldn’t tell you where they started if my life depended on it.  Reading something you wrote might spark creativity in me, but one thing alone never, never forms the foundation of the story.  Furthermore the seeds which grow into a novel without exception resemble the final product as much as a tree resembles a seed.

The purpose of Lover Dear is not for me to harvest ideas.  I have them coming out of my ears as it is, I’d be horrified if I was bombarded with more as I can only write so fast.  Anonymity guaranteed.  Lover Dear is genuinely intended to provide relief, a place to unburden yourself and perhaps in the process find the words you need to speak your thoughts to the one who inspired them: your lover.

In all honesty, I was quite shocked when I was asked if the purpose of the blog was to get story ideas.  The thought had not occurred to me.