On Writing and Originality
Years ago, when I watched Doctor Strange for the first time, it gave me a case of the grumps. Not because of Marvel exhaustion – we hadn’t got that far, at the time – but because the ‘broken hands’ narrative was exactly the same as that of my protag in Artifice. In Caph’s case, he’s a muso, and his hands were broken by an ex-lover, but the loss of his vocation was exactly the same.
Watching it, I found myself wanting to tell people, almost like I was at school and had been accused of cribbing someone’s homework, ‘I didn’t copy it, honest!’
Many years later, the Lugan project features an entire culture based on the concept of semi-daemonic bargaining. How one must offer something of personal value, physical or otherwise, in exchange for what one needs or wants. How such bargains must be worded carefully, to avoid loopholes and manipulation. How cultural leaders, called ‘Sayers’ came to the fore to speak these bargains, and how it all (inevitably) backfired. And, of course, just as I was publishing the book… along came a little thing called Baldur’s Gate, where Ketheric trades his soul for his daughter, Ethel keeps her menagerie, and various devils have fun playing games.
However!
Bless Baldur’s Gate for bringing an understanding: there’s no such thing as a truly original idea. There are lists of characters with broken or missing hands (a certain Luke Skywalker, for one), and the culture of bargains, and how they can go wrong, can be traced to a multitude of origins. The Monkey’s Paw, written by W W Jacobs in 1902. The earliest record of a ‘demon’, believed to be 11,000 years old and pre-dating the discovery of farming. And the concept of ‘three wishes’, which is an oral tradition, originating probably in Persia.
So all this means: no idea is truly original. Indeed, popular literary belief tells us that there are only seven basic plots. What’s original is you, what you do with them. It’s your vibe, your riff and interpretation, your take and emotional reaction. Your memories, your loves, the pictures in your head. All of these things are unique to you, affecting your settings and relationships and how you communicate what’s important. This is the part of your soul that you give to your readers, and its why no other person can speak in your voice.
And, if you do find that ‘your’ idea turns up in something else, don’t just walk away from it, or assume that people will think the worst. Every idea is something that someone’s had before, but stay with it, and make the effort to make it yours.
Because that’s what makes you human, and creative.
Reading: Wonderful privilege of reading a proof in order to provide a cover quote, something that’s always such a lovely request. No spoilers, but loving the vibe, and I think you really will, as well!
Watching: Finishing our run of Gotham at the end of season three, and finally catching up with Peacemaker. Which is absolutely glorious. John Cena is the man that we should aspire to be, if you see what I mean.
Playing: Our last Al-Qadim game saw so many fumbles that the table-top dice jail contained, at one point, no less than seven disgraced d20s. All we were trying to do was scale down a cliff to find a cave mouth, concealed by an illusion, and the problems started when the rope was too short, and then there were seagulls, and then one person fell into the water and couldn’t swim, and then someone else went to rescue them, and they couldn’t swim either, and another one, and on and on the disasters went.
It was one of those fabulous sessions that was completely spontaneous (we were supposed to start the adventure in the cave) but went every kind of wrong, leaving all of us hanging on every last dice roll, waiting for the next hilarious disaster as character after character stuffed up in spectacular style, and wound up almost dying. No-one can prepare (for) sessions like these, they’re down to the dice, to the dynamic and to the group, and they’re always some of the best!
