I do believe in fairies (I do, I do!)

It starts with something small.

An idea.

The glimmer of an idea.

A ‘what if’ question that swirls around and around in the brain and won’t shut up until you figure out the answer.

Sometimes there are many ideas, sometimes there are few.

The idea can manifest itself in a multitude of ways; painting, photography, short story, long story, way of attiring oneself, but the idea is there, waiting to come out like an Alien larva screaming HELLO WORLD, I AM HERE! NEVERMIND THE FLAILING DEATH SCREAM, THAT’S PERFECTLY NORMAL. I’M FUCKING FABULOUS, PAY ATTENTION TO ME!

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Anyway.

What gives an idea its power is not the idea itself, but the belief in the idea. The abject certainty in ‘this thing can work’. Without that Justin Beiber fangirl fanaticism, an idea won’t last very long. Like Tinkerbell, Santa Claus, and the Kardashians, an idea needs belief-and heavy Photoshopping-to survive.

Every idea has been done before. Nothing in this world is new. Detective in a [insert weird ass town here]? Goblins? Red Riding Hood? Mermaid? Vampires? David Bowie? Screaming things from out of the woodwork? PARANORMAL ACTIVITY?

All done before.

Batman used to be The Shadow, kids.

Stories are not special snowflakes. None of them are 100% completely original. The Collective Unconscious has locked every story and their gooey bits firmly into the minds of every human being in the world. That’s why we have dragons, unicorns, sea monsters, and a whole slew of other strange things collected together in ancient tomes known as D&D manuals.

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Okay, so maybe it has more to do with cross-culture sharing thanks to trade routes and the basic human need to tell stories.

Or, the more popular theory:

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Stories themselves may not be unique, but YOUR story is. YOUR story is a goddamned special snowflake. Why? Because YOU’RE the one doing the telling.

It’s not where the inspiration comes from (red riding hood, David Bowie, Uncle Jim with his five fingers and sixteen wives, peanut butter), it’s how the thing is torn apart, pieced together, and framed. People tell  stories for many reasons. Mostly because reality seriously sucks. Also to comment on society as a whole. Sometimes to shed light on the struggles of minorities.  Sometimes to make a buck and sometimes to say something about something else.

Stories are spun into magnificent and beautiful things. They’re wonderful little lies which also tell the truth. From a certain point of view. Their only requirement is belief in that, if the one doing the telling works hard enough at it, the story will work.

Because, I mean, come on guys, dinosaur erotica is an actual thing in existence.

Dinosaur. Erotica.

Not Twilight. Not 50 Shades of Oh Dear Jesus Make It Stop.

Dinosaur. Erotica.

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Let that sink in for a minute………..

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I’ll wait…………

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Your idea is not as terrible as you think it is.

Trust me.

There’s a whole lot that goes into story crafting: world building, plot, character names and arcs, fancy light sabers, evil galactic empires, maybe not so evil dwarf who wants to rule the mines of Mordor because his big toe told him that way lies his destiny.

But it starts with an idea about a dwarf whose talking big toe gets him into all sorts of crazy shit before he and the maniacal appendage are crowned king of Mordor.

It’s all about belief, baby.

Your story is motherfucking Tinkerbell. If you don’t believe in her, no one else will.

Toodles!

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