My creative method is simple. I lock myself in a darkened room and scream at a blank sheet of paper for an hour until something comes to mind.
I jest, of course. It’s typically a half-hour, tops.
It can’t always be so tough of course. Some days are better than others, right enough. There’s even times when the ghost of an idea can roll right up beside you, start to whisper in your ear.
Like this, for example:
I have a 20-month old son who loves cars, and the Disney-Pixar movie Cars, and planes, which he calls cars. He also likes Planes. When Christopher’s not looking stylish in hats — or, you know, fighting orcs — we’re watching Cars.
Around about the two-hundredth viewing I noticed an angry Doc Hudson, setting out his plans for the car that’s just wrecked the main road into town.
“I’m gonna put him in jail ’til he rots. No, check that… I’m gonna put him in jail ’til the jail rots on top of him, then I’m gonna move him to a new jail and let that jail rot.”