Within academia, there is a common concept that has both encouraged me and haunted me: the best research is the research that has already been accomplished. Or in other words, replication is next to godliness. I’m overstating, but that is what it feels like sometimes.
Within the process of research, what we are taught is not to necessarily search for that golden original idea, question, or currently uncharted area of research, but rather, stand firmly and securely upon the shoulders of giants (AKA, the research masterminds who have walked and worked before us and paved the way) and build upon what we already know. Particularly as a baby researcher like myself, it’s very much a “know your place” sort of mentality. And I get this. I can understand this. Baby researchers have to crawl before we can walk, and then walk before we can run. And then run before we can run with scissors, yelling out, “Freedom!” like out of a scene of Braveheart. (PSA: Don’t run with scissors, kids.)
However, even when we are well within the field, this is something that is being taught and considered. This is science. And the science nerd inside of me bobs her head in agreement that science is a process. One piece of evidence builds upon the next piece of evidence, and when novel evidence comes into the forefront, we test it and re-test it, and if the results are consecutively deemed replicable, then we can begin to incorporate that into the literature, while also building upon it as well. This (hopefully) allows for the science to mature without bias, and in theory, allows us to have a deeper confidence in those results and the applications that we base them on.
I keep on saying “build” upon the evidence. This can be done in practically endless ways (and the more ways it is done, the more we can know about a particular topic or field). But for this article, the concept that I want to consider is the idea of “finding the gaps.” In other words, finding the limitations of a study allows us to be able to correct those limitations, and thus, aim to increase the credibility of the findings or allow for a new consideration that is still tied to the same variables being researched but just slightly different given different evidence. This is how many “new” research questions are generated and how the “new” research builds upon “old” evidence.
With that being said, it is my personal opinion that there is a flaw within this. In the process of keeping the “science” pure, original questions are left unchallenged for fear of being unaccepted due to poor rationale for study. A lack of acceptance means a lack of funding, which means a no-go for the research. Academia is very much a narrow door. To equate it to something, it feels a bit like an entry-level job application asking for 3+ years of experience. It feels like a double bind, where you lose before you even turn in your resume. However, that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth the struggle. That doesn’t mean that it’s not worth the grind. Research is a beautiful and extremely necessary field. For those that are able to fight within the lines drawn and figure out how to play the game well, all the more to you.
Just like with everything else in life, everything has its pros and cons, and I truly believe that everything has its takeaways. And, interestingly, I was thinking about how important this concept of “finding the gaps” is to not only academic research but also when fiction writing. What’s that, you say? Fiction, you say? Isn’t that the exact opposite of academic research and writing? Well, that could be argued, friend, but indeed, bear with me. For, while I do believe the academic world needs a bit of a scientific revival that brings a bit more creativity into the mix in order to study complex issues in the hopes of solving or at least aiding them, I believe that the creative writing world can learn a few things from the rigidity of academic writing. I say this because while research has snubbed many creative and unique thoughts through the tight-fisted rulings of peer review and publications, creative writing does not have such objective(?) eyes guiding and ruling over it. And due to this, the curse of the original thought still lurks in many a corner of a creative’s mind.
For, while academia tells us to not be so conceited, society and media have been telling us the lie that “originality” is the only idea worth sharing (while, ironically, spitting out a million book-to-movie adaptations that make me want to spit blood), and that if your creative idea isn’t “original,” then it’s not worth even considering. A concept that may slightly combat this is the concept of “authenticity,” which seems to have been getting more traction these days, and when done right, I think can aid in fighting back against the curse. However, the problem with authenticity is that there seems to be an entire world out there willing and wanting to be the judge on whether you are being authentic enough. It’s like a snake biting its own tail. We attempt to fight back, only to realize that we are chewing ourselves up. Once again, no one wins when no one can speak due to fear.
So, that’s a long intro into something that isn’t going to fix all of that. That’s all just merely background noise that we as people need to both understand but then learn how to tune out to just the right frequency. But here is the thought for those that are paralyzed (in a way that I have been) when you feel that flickering flame of passion to write and create, but at the same time, that smothering darkness of fear of not even knowing what to write about. Granted, there are many fears that can immobilize us as writers (and human beings, in general), and I can’t list them out here (although writing that out makes me want to challenge myself to do exactly that… but I will refrain… for your sake). So, I just want to give one very simple idea inspired by my research training that may potentially help get you out of that curse of the original idea and fear of not being able to write.
Here it is: Read. All of the things.
I told you it was going to be simple. Do you feel like you wasted your time reading the intro now? Well, let me (over-)explain this a bit. I am a firm believer that we need to read more books in order to become good writers. I don’t think that’s controversial. But recently, I heard an author make the comment to read not only good books but also read bad books. This largely has to do, I think, with the fact that reading good literature often makes us want to reproduce it, even if it’s unconsciously, and that’s a big no-no. As well, reading good lit can go both ways: either filling you with a passion to write or snuffing out any small flame due to the fear of not being able to measure up to this already-completed piece of art (the “why start if my writing could never be this good” self-sabotage, pre-rejection fear, heyyyyy). On the other hand, reading bad literature might make you want to throw the book across the room, but you are not likely going to want to reproduce it or feel intimidated by it, and there some of the advantages of reading them for inspiration lie.
Let me just point out a quick caveat before we go on, though. There seem to be some articles out there that state that reading bad literature should be done in order to “create taste,” to learn how to distinguish between good and bad books and with the implicit goal being the cultivation of good taste. But to be honest, taste is largely subjective, and I think it should stay that way. Personal preference for material doesn’t need to be gatekept with moral language around “good” or “bad” taste. For someone to say that you have bad taste for the material that you enjoy should be a crime (hot take), as it instills shame for personal book preference (and can potentially discourage people from reading at all). Now, that isn’t to say that I want to read the same books that you do. And that should be fine, too. So, when I am talking about “good” and “bad” literature, what I mean is “good” and “bad” to you. As well, that’s not to say that the literary world has not already ruled what is “good” and “bad,” and that there hasn’t been a miraculous consensus amongst a vast population of readers for some books, but if a classic doesn’t move you, then you don’t have to consider it “good.” It’s good to recognize that many others do, but if it doesn’t inspire you and if you’re not in the mood (or with a motive) for writing for an audience that might like that, then maybe put it aside. That’s more than fine. (Although, just to throw it out there: “good” and “healthy” are two different things. Some books may be “good” but not necessarily “healthy” for you. But I digress.)
I believe one of our jobs as creative writers (and, just, human beings?) is to figure out what we ourselves like and don’t like and to be inspired from there. The nuance around the conversation of “good” and “bad,” however, changes a bit when we are talking about non-fiction writing or essay writing, but that is also a topic for a different day. As well, writers who choose to write less from personal preference and more for a specific audience are equally as valid. But even in that case, it’s important to know what your bents are, so you can know whether you want to lean into them or lean away from them as creative writers.
So, this is what I want to lead with in order to offer a potential weapon to combat the curse of the original thought (your Excalibur, if you will). If you do not have any immediate things you want to write, go to the literature (both good and bad) and be inspired. Just waiting around for an original idea can often put you in a state of writing paralysis that is hard to break out of even when an idea hits. Because, if we are being honest, even if we had an “original” idea, it’s hard to know if it’s “original” or “good” enough. When we aren’t writing, we aren’t maintaining those neuronal connections. Our brains need exercise just like our muscles. I don’t know about you, but I fight against imposter syndrome and self-doubt when I am writing AND when I am not writing. So, if that’s going to be there no matter what (oh fun), why not try and choose to write and keep those neurons toned and ready?
The question then becomes: how can we be proactive with our writing and not just give into the curse of the original idea that can lead to paralysis? Let’s get back to the main idea of reading both good and bad books. Through the tool of critical thinking, reading “good” literature allows us to “build upon previous evidence (strengths),” while reading “poor” literature helps us to “find gaps (limitations/weaknesses)” that we can then leverage to create our own pieces. In other words, reading good books and thinking critically about WHY they are good can potentially set us up to be able to incorporate those aspects into our own stories. On the other hand, reading bad books and thinking about WHY they are bad or what aspects are bad can potentially fuel ideas on how we would make them better. Bad books are not usually solely bad (nor are “good” books solely good, so this can potentially be applied there too). There is usually almost always something positive about it. Maybe they are attempting to freshen up an old trope. Maybe they are trying to break into a genre that is less explored with a particular audience age range in mind. Not only finding the bad but also finding the good from within the bad can inspire us. Likewise, reading both good and bad books and critically thinking about them allows us to consider where there might be a gap in the field of literature in general. And in those moments, you can ask yourself: What is missing? How do I fill it? What kind of story, circumstances, characters, and settings could help facilitate fixing that gap?
Saying that, thinking well is probably one of the hardest things to do in life. (Do I lie?) One way to really help encourage thinking critically about the books you are reading, though, is through writing out a summary and/or evaluation of the book, aiming to consider the strengths and weaknesses of the book. Now, this is a good practice even if you just want to be a better reader and thinker, but it’s an invaluable tool for a writer, as well. Summaries and evaluations don’t even have to be full prose. Bullet points are a dream. Notes are efficient. Or, do full rant mode like me, and just allow your critical mind to go at it and think about it from every angle, as well as the author’s potential motivation for decisions. Look to what works best for you in encouraging thought and consideration and doesn’t steal away your motivation for writing. And let’s not forget, friends, writing summaries and evaluations is still a form of writing. So even that act can encourage forging those brain pathways to help you to become a more consistent writer (if that’s your goal).
All that being said, I think it’s very important to respect the hard work of all writers. When I say “leverage” bad writing, I never mean plagiarize. I never mean copy. I never mean steal. And this is where the link between research and creative writing needs some teasing apart. While much research allows for almost complete replication of a study, reports of that study must never be plagiarized. One must always give credit for something that is not yours. It’s called citing, and it’s critical. For creative writing, it is perfectly fine to allow a piece of work to inspire you and to use it as a starting point in your brainstorming. A book or story that is bad (or doesn’t have a lot of publicity) does not give you the right to take most or the entire plot. If you are just changing bits and pieces, then you are editing their book, not writing your own. It is bad practice to claim it as yours, and to be honest, it’s just lazy. This is just me saying, be careful.
Consider using bad writing to help inspire you by asking questions and building from the answers you arrive at, but be aware of the line between “inspired by” and “copied.” Think of the material as a catapult. You start in that seat but then allow your questions and those thoughts to be the momentum to fling you in the air (wheee~). You should be landing quite far away from that initial seat (and the entire catapult apparatus itself) by the time you are finishing your brainstorming or piece. The conversation changes a bit when you are not claiming it as yours or if you are just using it as training and not aiming for any sort of publication, but there is something to say about not getting in the habit.
Finally… I recognize that it’s easier said than done. Even with these hints, waiting to see what pops up or critically thinking about literature isn’t easy. In this, I just have to say: try and trust the process. Trust that something will come, and even if it doesn’t come immediately, that is okay. As much as possible, lean into fun rather than frustration (although frustration is also perfectly valid, man; I get it).
To wrap it up, do not be afraid (but indeed be cautious) to pull from the literature, both positive and negative. The original thought, while golden and shiny, is not the end-all goal. Writing is. Just write. Sometimes, the best material is inspired by old material but is done in a way that only you could do, given your own strengths and resources. Alternatively, good material sometimes comes from a complete void, a gap, which is calling out to you to fill it. And sometimes, it takes an old idea (sometimes bad, sometimes good) to whip you into the air and arrive somewhere new. Remember, in this world, there is very little that is actually original. However, you are a unique creation. No one else has your brain or your exact experiences or skill sets. No one can tell a story exactly like you do as long as you write from that place of authenticity and ease of personhood. Although, let’s be honest, writing “like you” can sometimes be the hardest thing. But in the end, if we want to be writers, let us not aim for perfect writing (if such a beast exists), for even what we consider to be “perfect writing” will not protect us from critics, given the subjective nature of creative works. But instead, let us just try and write to our own satisfaction, with humility in knowing not all our writing (or even none) will be well received by others, and with pride in knowing what only we can accomplish and, indeed, what we did accomplish.
Questions and critical thinking are some of the greatest tools of a writer as you try to brainstorm a story into life. Some ideas come out of thin air but a lot of them require work. Both forms of story brainstorming are, however, equally valid. So don’t let the curse of the original thought paralyze you any further. Take a hint from the world of research and let your reading be your guide (both the good and bad), question everything, keep notes, and just write.