The Gift of Bad Ideas

Recently, I took a cross-country drive.  Well, half-cross-country–driving from Vermont to Nebraska and back.  (I’ll be doing the same thing in a couple of weeks!)  Except for some stressful situations driving through Cleveland in a rainstorm and driving through Chicago in bumper-to-bumper traffic, it was a nice drive.  (Remember, I live in rural Vermont, where you can drive for miles sometimes without encountering another car–I am not used to city traffic!)

 

It was fascinating traveling along the slowly shifting landscape. From the mountains and forests of New England to the rolling hills of New York State’s scenic Mohawk Valley, to the woods and farmland of western New York and Ohio, the farms of Indiana, the rolling prairie of Illinois, the cornfields and wind turbines of Iowa (there had to be a thousand wind turbines there along I-80!), and finally the windswept, dry plains of Nebraska.  It was a journey.

 

Along the way, much of the time, I didn’t have the radio on–or anything else, for that matter.  (Sometimes I did, of course–it was a 28-hour drive one way!)  But for good chunks of time, it was just the silence of the interior of the car and the rhythmic beat of the tires on asphalt.  In such an environment, especially in the wide-open spaces of Iowa and Illinois, the mind has a tendency to wander.

 

Story ideas bubbled up from my subconscious.  I’d look at a wind turbine or a farmhouse off in the distance, isolated on the prairie.  I’d observe the neighborhoods of cities and towns as I drove through them, imagining the people there, the lives they live, the dreams and goals they aspire to.  The tragedies they face.  The loss.  The joys.  All of it.  And things would happen in the folds and crannies of my brain.

Several story ideas emerged.  It didn’t take long, though, to realize they weren’t any good.  Even if a premise had merit, the particulars were all wrong.  Oftentimes, there weren’t any  particulars at all–just random thoughts and plotlines zigzagging this way and that, unconnected, discombobulated.  Idea after idea swam into my head, like a school of minnow darting about in search of food.  The “food,” in this case, would be a fleshed-out story.  Alas, one never came for the duration of the drive.  Only the random, scattered ideas, bouncing around like Ping-Pong balls, hopping, skipping, jumping, and, ultimately, running away, back into the creative ether from which they came.

 

You might think I am disappointed, looking back, that none of the ideas were workable.  Not so.  Because even bad ideas bring with them a moment of jubilation, a species of excitement.  When an idea first hits, in those first few seconds–you don’t know if it’s good or bad, workable or unworkable.  That comes later–after you’ve mulled it over for a while, seeing where it leads, and realizing, it doesn’t lead anywhere!  But in the beginning, when it first arises, it is the be-all, the alpha and the omega.  It holds infinite promise.  It can take you anywhere.  It brings with it excitement and anticipation.  Every time.

 

And so–a drive full of bad ideas?  That equals a drive full of thrills (the good kind) and interesting moments, of discovery and hope.  The result of those ideas being the trash heap of the idea slush pile doesn’t matter so much as the fact that the ideas came at all–they entertained and, even if briefly, demanded attention.  It’s like exercise, too.  Even bad ideas exercise the creative muscles.

And so, when I drive back across half the country in a few weeks, I will once again welcome all the bad ideas I can come up with.  And who knows–maybe one of them will turn into something special.

 

Thanks so much for reading!

–Mike