Ideas Are Cheap: Why “Good Ideas” Are Overrated

I spoke with an old coworker once who told me about their brilliant idea for a novel that they would like to write “some day.” I asked them what was stopping them as they were clearly excited about the idea and felt that it was something they’d want to read themself.

They didn’t have a compelling answer. They ran into the issue that so many writers I know have fallen into: Getting started is a bitch. Writing a novel is hard and eating that particular elephant is a daunting proposition.

That conversation also struck me as important because it was the opposite of another that I’ve had a half-dozen or more times. One that goes something like this: “I want to write, but I just don’t have any good ideas.”

So, which is it? Do good ideas breed writing? Does writing breed good ideas? Is it easier to get started if you have some fresh new concept never before put to paper?

I think there’s a lot to unpack on this topic and it’s likely that I’ll cover it further in the future, but I’ll start here today:

Ideas are cheap. If you think a lack of ideas is getting in the way of you writing, I want you to remember my friend. Ideas don’t make you write. Discipline, drive, and purpose help in that realm. And there’s an easy solution to not having any ideas: Steal.

I’m being totally serious. What are your favorite books? TV shows? Movies? Video Games? Why do you like them? Dig into that. What pieces of them intrigue you and make you think? What makes you keep going back to them and others like them?

Let established authors help you out

If you think no one will like your crime thriller simply because James Patterson exists, you’ve got it backward. Because James Patterson has converted generations of readers to the genre, you’ve a ready market for your work.

One needs look no further than the dozens of Hunger Games clones that have dominated the Post-Apocalyptic YA market since its success more than a decade ago.

There may be an internal artist in you who is affronted at the notion of taking cues from someone else or who pretentiously assumes that whatever incredible—and original—ideas will come to them just as soon as they work out an agreement with their muse will be groundbreaking, beautiful, and unique. Who could possibly have the same ideas as your uniquely-you take?

Well, someone. Anyone. Because there are nearly 8 billion people on this planets and magnitudes more than that who have already lived and died. Originality of the type being discussed is a pipedream. The hero will set out, maybe reluctantly, try and fail and grow and win the day. Or, if the hero should lose, we deal with horror and tragedy and learn something about humanity along the way.

I could go on and suggest dozens and dozens of archetypes. They aren’t bad. They aren’t even inherently cliche. What they are is marketable and readable and, most importantly for you, writeable. There’s a universality to human experience that you need to tap into to tell a story that resonates with someone. The good news? You’re a human.

We can get bogged down by the notion that our writing needs to be universal to the point that we make it too broad. Paradoxically, it’s the specific, intimate, and personal details that evoke universality. Key into what you love about other stories and what you feel about them and then write something accordingly.

This will serve you in at least two ways: first, you’ll know who your audience is. This is invaluable. You’ll know who to suggest your book to. You’ll know how to market it, the kind of cover it should have, and what the blurb should sound like.

Second, you’ll be more excited about this writing project because it’s about stuff you already like. In fact, in your quest to understand why something resonates with you, you’re likely to key into ways that you can improve upon it and make it uniquely-you.

Originality and you

Here is where real originality and uniqueness enters the scene: no one has your voice, experience, perspective, or unique take. One hundred people all given the same basic idea for a story will write one hundred different books.

And yours? It’ll be someone’s favorite. There’s a tangible goal for you: write something you love and market it until you meet someone who tells you how it’s their favorite novel, short story, or what-have-you. You did that. That came from your mind.

Sure, it leans on established tropes and archetypes—everything does—but it’s uniquely yours and someone loved it. Bask in that when it happens.

Idea generation is a topic for another post, but I’ll leave you with this story about a bet-turned-bestselling-series from Jim Butcher (found here):

The bet was . . . centered around writing craft discussions being held on the then-new Del Rey Online Writers’ Workshop, I believe. The issue at hand was central story concepts. One side of the argument claimed that a good enough central premise would make a great book, even if you were a lousy writer. The other side contended that the central concept was far less important than the execution of the story, and that the most overused central concept in the world could have life breathed into by a skilled writer.

It raged back and forth in an ALL CAPITAL LETTERS FLAMEWAR between a bunch of unpublished writers, and finally some guy dared me to put my money where my mouth was, by letting him give me a cheesy central story concept, which I would then use in an original novel.

Me being an arrogant kid, I wrote him back saying, “Why don’t you give me TWO terrible ideas for a story, and I’ll use them BOTH.”

The core ideas he gave me were Lost Roman Legion and Pokémon . . . Thus was Alera formed.

Codex Alera is hard evidence that writing, not idea generation, is paramount to, well, writing a good book.

So, there you are. I invite you to go write something. Ideas will come and can be found all over. Define what you like, why you like it, and why it works and you’ll be shocked at how easy the ideas flow.