On at least two of my past three novels my initial inspiration has come to me while driving. Something about the monotony of a long road, I suppose, and the brain wandering off. It seems sleep is my road this time around. After the first flash two nights ago I wasn’t sure where to take the story. I knew the character premise and had a couple opening paragraphs, but no plot points, no climax. I didn’t even really know what came next.
This morning I woke up with a dream just starting to fade from memory. And, strangely, even though it had nothing to do with my character, I knew that it was the plot concept that I was looking for. Now, three hours later, I can barely remember any parts of the dream itself, but when I got up I madly scribbled down all the plot ideas that the dream had created. I now have a first chapter and a climax and a general plot premise, which is about all I ever start a novel with – I pants the rest and let it fill in as I go.
[insert here rubbing of hands in delicious anticipation]