Many writers talk about plot bunnies; when you get one little idea, and then it multiplies and multiplies, and very soon you’re overrun with baby plot bunnies. Sometimes too many ideas coming too quickly. It can be easy to get overwhelmed.
I, on the other hand, don’t get plot bunnies. I get story worms.
Out of the blue, I’ll become aware of one, buried deep in my brain. Sometimes I’ll glimpse its little head poking out, other times just evidence of its presence: holes, worm poo. I know it’s there, but I can’t get to it.
Far from being rapid multipliers like plot bunnies, my story worms need to be charmed out. It’s a gentle process requiring skill, patience, a little luck, and the ability to not care if you look a bit silly doing it.
I’ll do what it takes to get those worms out: worm grunting, worm fiddling, twanging, music, dance, or simply stamping my feet. And when a head finally breaks the surface, I have to grab it, pull it, and hope it comes out intact.
So while some writers are rounding up wayward plot bunnies, I’ll be in my wellies doing a rain dance. Because that’s the great thing about writing; we all have our own special ways of doing it, but it always helps to be a little bit crazy.