Where do story ideas come from?

Through my life the things I see or do every day have pressed constant story ideas into my mind. These ideas present me with some minor entertainment in the moments of calm, anxiety or just plain boredom I find myself in. They have plagued me for as long as I can remember, scenes from some hidden world around me that only I can see; the barista, her arms covered in flowing tattoos blasts me with a stream of hellfire, flashing emergency lights light up the side of a house where firefighters face down sentient flames. I walk through the woods enjoying the peace and quiet of the deep forest and my mind conjures up medieval raiders bearing down on terrified peasants. These scenes, disconnected from any cohesive story idea, roll continuously through my mind tormenting me with their details until I sit and write them down.

On very few occasions writing these scenes down lead to the next obvious scene. hopefully leading to the next or if luck is with me questions will come to mind leading me to a vague plot idea or a thin outline. Why are these peasants on the trail, why are the raiders attacking, where is this trail, why should I care? Unfortunately, more often than not they fade into the ether and leave me with nothing more than a single scene with no sense of purpose or direction.

Where the Hell are these ideas coming from?

I like to think a small godling sits behind my eyes. She watches the world go by and notices things I don’t. She points them out to me and asks, what if.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she says, “what if that tree suddenly came to life and ate the cat.”

“Hey, hey, hey, what if the Lost Colony was killed by vampires?”

“Hey, hey, hey, what if St. Paul’s head was still alive and controlling the Catholic Church?”

She nags at me constantly firing my mind with scenes of the hidden world around me. I try to get through my days getting things done cooking breakfast, working, maybe even showering but she sits behind my eyes pointing out the hidden world around me. The things she points roll around in my head for weeks or even months demanding that I refine and give meaning to them. They continue to torment me until I finally sit down and press finger to keyboard. Then they fade away and leave me in peace until the next random thought strikes me and I find myself daydreaming about the garden statue I passed this morning attacking the old woman weeding beside it.

On really good days my Muse will comply and walk along with me as I develop the scene into something usable, on not so good days my Muse slams my imagination with so many short scenes that I can barely get one written down before the next clogs up my mental space leaving me with dozens of ideas that go nowhere. Story ideas surround us we just have to learn to recognize them when we see them. They are out there, you just have to ask, what if?