brainstorming

The human brain has an infinite capacity for imagination.

Everything we see, hear, touch, smell, taste that has anything to do with having human contact, was once merely an idea in someone’s imagination.

A daydream, fantasy, that wouldn’t go away until the thought could one day be manifested into reality.

People died for having some of these ideas. There was a time that even the mention of flying around the world or into space could have you put to death. There was a good chance you would be locked away forever as dangerous and insane if you did manage to escape execution.

But still we continue to come up with wild ideas, random thoughts. Some of these come from a lifetime of dreaming up solutions to common problems, but most seem to just appear in our heads when we least expect them.

Writing is a powerful way of finding what lurks deep down in the subconsciousness. One of the common mistakes is to think too much about what to write before it gets written.

For some this planning process is vital for their personal creative process. For many others it stops them from writing anything. They may even call it ‘writers block.’

It isn’t surprising ‘writers block’ stops so many talented people from fulfilling their potential when it comes to writing. If we have an INFINITE capacity for imagination, this means we have an unlimited number of choices when it comes to choosing what to write about. The task is daunting enough without realising you have unlimited choices.

One neat trick whatever you like writing about (and this is perfect for children’s writing and getting children to write) is to write about you. What makes you happy, sad, laugh, angry and frustrated. Recreate your character and incorporate it into the next person or character you make up.

If you enjoy eating mangos, make sure that the lemming in your next story loves eating mangos too. If you have a passion for drawing cartoons, turn your lemming into a cartoonist who sits at the edge of the cliff each lemming season and munches on mangos while watching, and sketching, his mates jump over the edge.

If you like snorkelling, then each lemming that jumps could be wearing a snorkel and mask. They aren’t killing themselves at all.

Being limited to your own imagination means you have no limits at all.

The more you do this the more your imagination takes over and the character that was you is re-invented.

This is a difficult concept to grasp, especially when you’re a child and have so many other worries as well. Such as how to spell words, in what order those words should go and where do all those punctuation bits go, and why?

No wonder the creative juices are stymied.

It isn’t enough though, to come up with just ideas on how to write without demonstrating how it can be done, and explaining the process as much as it can be explained along the way.

So I’ll begin a story, here, now, and add to it when I feel like it.

Beginnings can be found anywhere. I worked at a school this morning, and on the wall behind the librarian there is a black and white photo. I’ve seen it several times. No one knows where it came from.

It’s in my mind now, so that’s my starting point. The important thing to remember here is that I have no idea what’s going to come out next. Not a clue.

I start with the memory and what I see in my head, and begin writing. There’s no conscious thought about this, but I know to trust the process. It gives me a tingle of expectation every time, and even if people didn’t like the stories, I don’t believe it would matter.

I love doing it, and what better life can you have than doing something you love doing?

Here goes. I’ll call it :

‘The Photograph’ (because that’s what it is, and by Rob Daniel, because that’s who I am).
She sat on the wall, looking down at me eating a sandwich with a faint smile on her face. “She must be dead” I thought.

The photo was in black and white, frayed and yellow around the edges. A group of unsmiling men, women and children dressed in everyday clothes from a hundred years ago. A picnic. There were bushes behind them and grass under a white cloth.

The bell rang. I jumped up guiltily. We weren’t supposed to eat lunch in the school library but I ate there anyway. No one else wanted to sit with me and besides it was cold outside.

I looked up again at the girl in the photograph, still smiling a little. She was about my age, maybe a little older. She had a blanket wrapped around her waist. I stopped and moved closer. She was holding a white mug.

I blinked a couple of times staring. They didn’t drink from mugs did they, not a hundred years ago? They drank daintily from cups and saucers with their little finger stuck out at right angles.

A mug?

“Emily!”

I jumped. Don’t you just hate it being caught doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

Luckily it wasn’t Mr Smythe because Mr Smythe would have thrown me in detention and forgotten about me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at sport” Miss Chipkin said kindly. “Are you day dreaming again?”

“Yes Miss Chipkin . I mean, NO Miss Chipkin. Well, yes and no, yes I’m supposed to be at sport and no I wasn’t day dreaming. Just thinking.”

I must have got that glassy look on my face again because a voice broke its way in, “EMILY - GO!”

“Yes Miss Chipkin.”

At this point I know there’s more, much more, and it’s very difficult to stop the flow. Now I’m intrigued as to what’s happening, and want to write more to find out. You see, I haven’t a clue. There are a few ideas floating around sure, but I push them away as I’m writing because I want to see what’s really there, not what I think is there while I’m writing it

It sounds confusing, as trying to describe the process of how a story is written is difficult. This is because most people who write don’t honestly know how it happens. That it happens at all is enough, and trying to analyse it is risky because it might suddenly all disappear.

This opening is 286 words, so for an exercise write an opening to a story. Make it under 300 words. Start by looking at a photograph you like, or a drawing, painting, or look out of your window. Pick any subject and begin writing.

See how you go. Don’t judge the outcome please, because there may only be a germ of an idea in the whole piece. But as a process, trust it. This is you, being a writer, and if you love this, what else would you rather be doing?

Check back soon for what comes next in ‘The Photograph’. I want to know too.

Rob Daniel is a children’s author, creative writing, memory and self-esteem teacher. He lives in beautiful Albany on the south west corner of Western Australia, has a passion for mangos, the Greek Islands and bringing the best out of young people. He has been booked to go on a creative writing tour of primary schools around the south-west in September, and is very excited about the adventures he’s about to have!

‘Rob Daniel’s Magical Mystery Tour Of The Imagination’ is calling at Esperance, Boulder and Perth, eight one hour sessions in five schools.

Rob creates ‘turn the page’ children’s e-books with illustrators from around the world. You can check out and buy these books instantly from http://www.chocmint.com You’ll also find an opportunity to join the chocmint adventure yourself, if you have a passion for writing and illustrating for children.

LATEST book published ‘A Tail’s Tale’, illustrated by UK artist Elizabeth Stringer. Part proceeds from these books go towards sponsoring children at the Bear-Care orphanage in Kitgum, Uganda run by the extraordinary Murray Ki

Tags: author, book, brainstorming, children, Creative, illustrators, imagination, kids, rob daniel, story, writingauthor, book, brainstorming, children, Creative, illustrators, imagination, kids, rob daniel, story, writing

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I couldn’t leave it there.

Writing doesn’t have to be the lonely process some writers make it. ‘Life’ needs to continue, particularly the social life.

Some people don’t have the luxury of a rich social life, but through the Internet do enjoy meeting a range of people throughout the world, in forums, chat rooms, via e-mail and even on the phone.

If your children access such areas make sure it’s safe. Monitor everything they do there.

That said, this is the first time in our history that not only adults but children too can gain a unique insight into the lives of other people around the world. What an exciting time to be alive, and what an opportunity to share our imagination and dreams.

One throwaway line can create a story that will be read by millions.

The Photograph is a story I started in the last article. I needed to continue it quickly to see where it was going, if there was a future in it or whether it would peter out.

Let’s find out.

I just read the last line, switched off as much as the brain can, and now begin the next line:

I raced off to the oval where it hadn’t stopped raining since I started school. It didn’t matter how hot it was the rest of the week, sport meant rain. Usually hail too, and a wind that blew through your head and came out your feet.
Today it was hot.

REALLY hot! I was sweating when I got there and passed-out after the first lap.

“That’s pathetic” Mr Peters the sports teacher said, coming over and pouring a bottle of warm water on my face. “I thought you were fit.”

“I was” I said, sitting up. “I’m not used to the sun that’s all. It’s always raining at sport.”

Mr Peters shook his head and walked off. I don’t think he likes me anymore. He looked over his shoulder.
“Where do you live Emily?” he asked.

He does like me.

“Over there Mr Peters, the blue house, next to where they’re digging up the road” I started.
“No, what country do you live in?”

Mr Peters is having a mid-life crisis.

“Australia Mr Peters.”

“And what’s the weather like in Australia, where you are?” he asked.

Ah, sarcasm. I recognised this. A lot of people use this on me, so I’m told, but I don’t usually get it. This time I did.
“Hot” I said. He walked further away. “But it’s usually freezing” I shouted at his back. He waved a hand at me and didn’t turn around.

The bell went. I’ve always thought that’s a funny thing to say. ‘The bell went’. Where did it go, and why, when, who with, what did it do wherever it was it went and how did it get there.

‘The bell went’. ‘That’s dumb that is. It must be a dumbbell. I said so, but the only one who heard me was a year three and he looked at me, screwed up his nose and rolled his eyeballs.

The bell rang. Sport finished, not that I’d done anything sporty. I went to afternoon recess in the library, took out a muesli bar and looked up at my friend in the photo.

She was still smiling gently down at me, as if she knew something I didn’t. It was more likely the other way around.
The librarian looked friendly today. She wasn’t always. Libraries must be stressful places to work because sometimes people who work in them get very grumpy and snap your head off for no reason.

Today Mrs Book was being nice.

Yes, I know, Mrs Book. It sounds like a silly joke, but that’s really her name. Some people look for jobs that suit their names.

“Mrs Book”.

Mrs Book carefully placed her finger on the bridge of her glasses and tipped them down over her nose. She looked at me over the top of them. “Yes, what do you want Emily” she said with a posh voice. I don’t know if she is really English or just puts the voice on because she works in a library. Maybe being surrounded by books gives you a posh voice.

“You know that photo?”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that Emily, I’m not a mind reader you know.”

There was that sarcasm again. I’m getting better at spotting it. “That one” I said, pointing at the picture stuck on the wall behind her. “Can I have it?”

I don’t know why I asked. It just came out. Mrs Book was so surprised she couldn’t find a reason to say no. Instead she found a reason to say yes.

“Well, I suppose. We’re having Book Week next week and I’ve been sent so many posters to hang up on the wall, but heaven knows where I’m going to put them.”

That posh voice again, and a strange expression to go with it. ‘Heaven knows.’ I wonder if heaven really knows, and if it does will it tell Mrs Book what she wants to know.

“Can I have the photo then Mrs Book, I’ll look after it.”

Mrs Book reached up and pulled the picture down, tearing blue tac off the wall with it. “There you are” she said, rolling it up tightly. “It’s been there for ever, I don’t even know who put it there.”

Wow, for ever. That is a long time.

I pushed the prize up my sleeve and found a quiet spot away from computer games and other kids mucking about. I took out the magnifying glass from my bag. I always carry a magnifying glass now, and a digital camera, since I found a strange creature crawling across the playground which had six legs, scales, sharp teeth and a horn sticking out of its head. It disappeared down a drain, and when I told everyone about it they just laughed at me. Now I’m ready for weird stuff like that.

I unrolled the photo and studied it closely. She was pretty, the girl in the picture. Prettier than me I thought. I looked closely at the other people too, taking in all the detail in their faces, what they were wearing. A couple of the men had bulges in the jacket pockets. What could they be carrying?

Then I looked at the mug the girl was holding. That just wasn’t right.

I peered through the magnifying glass at some printing and the logo on the mug. ‘Albany Primary School’ it said.
That was impossible.

The girl smiled serenely at me. She’d changed her hairstyle since yesterday. It looked nice, cropped short like that.
Changed her hairstyle!?

People in photographs don’t change their hairstyles. They don’t change anything, they’re photographs!
I must have made a mistake.

The bell went. “Go on, hurry up or you’ll be late” the girl in the photograph said.

I didn’t expect the story to go there, and I have no idea how the imagination is going to justify it all. Sometimes you do need to work at that, sometimes it comes out first time if you let it.

This is a first draft too. The raw material that will need to be cropped, adjusted, tinkered with. That’s the real fun part. Or, it will just come out in one go and just work.

Or not.

The important thing is not to worry and panic about it, and once it’s finished let it go, send it to wherever you’re sending it, give thanks to whatever higher authority you give thanks to and move on to the next project.

If people like it, that’s nice. If they don’t, so what?

Traveling is all about the journey, as is life, and writing, and the destination isn’t important. Nice if you get there, but if you don’t, look at where else the journey took you.

And where next with The Photograph? No idea, but I will let you know, so keep watch..

Rob Daniel is a children’s author, creative writing, memory and self-esteem teacher. He lives in beautiful Albany on the south west corner of Western Australia, has a passion for mangos, the Greek Islands and bringing the best out of young people. He has been booked to go on a creative writing tour of primary schools around the south-west in September, and is very excited about the adventures he’s about to have!

‘Rob Daniel’s Magical Mystery Tour Of The Imagination’ is calling at Esperance, Boulder and Perth, eight one hour sessions in five schools.

Rob creates ‘turn the page’ children’s e-books with illustrators from around the world. You can check out and buy these books instantly from http://www.chocmint.com You’ll also find an opportunity to join the chocmint adventure yourself, if you have a passion for writing and illustrating for children.

LATEST book published ‘A Tail’s Tale’, illustrated by UK artist Elizabeth Stringer. Part proceeds from books go towards sponsoring children at the Bear-Care orphanage in Kitgum.

Tags: author, book, brainstorming, children, Creative, illustrators, imagination, kids, rob daniel, story, writingauthor, book, brainstorming, children, Creative, illustrators, imagination, kids, rob daniel, story, writing

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