When ideas attack

Dear shiny new story idea:

Yes, I feel you in my brain, pushing against the door. You want to come in and shove my current, half-finished, project off my desk. You are banging at the door, calling my name, bombarding me with phrases and scraps of plot.

But you see, this has happened before. I often find that when I turn to a story idea that has been knocking--when I open that door--the idea turns shy and shrinks away. "Who, me?" it asks. "Umm, yeah, I might possibly have something to say. If you ask very nicely, maybe I will think about sharing it with you." The idea that has been pounding on the door with all the muscle of a pro boxer turns into a fragile, fluttering belle on the verge of a swoon.

You might have copied this from my cat. He will writhe before the door, yowling the feline equivalent of, "I MUST GO OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW I HAVE URGENT CAT BUSINESS TO CONDUCT OH YOU STUPID HUMAN DON'T YOU SEE HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS I MUST GO OUT OR I WILL DIE IF YOU REEEALLY LOVED ME YOU WOULD OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!!!" Only to face the newly opened door with a surprised blink and ten minutes of tiptoeing toward the threshold, sniffing the door jamb, peering outside, and contemplating the meaning of life, before actually exiting the building.

But don't get me wrong. I'm glad you're there, and I hope you're just as vigorous when it's your turn as you are right now, when I have another story to finish.

Cheers,

Your writer