All of us writer-types have been there.
You’re in the shower, and you have An Idea. You’re falling asleep, glasses off, phone quieted, dark and peaceful and snuggly, and you have An Idea. You’re driving to work and you get cut off by an asshole driver and you get some character inspiration—An Idea.
You get where I’m going with this—you always have ideas when you are least equipped to write them down.
This is also when you finally figure out the winning argument to that debate you had two months ago. It’s known as l’esprit d’escalier in French, or “spirit of the stairs” in English. When you think of a perfect reply far too late (as in, the stairway afterward). But it very sadly applies to writing ideas, too.
I’ll give you a spoiler alert now: I don’t have a resolution or fix to this in this blog post. I go over some things I’ve attempted to do, ideas I’ve heard of from other authors, and you can try any and all of them if you’d like. If any work for you, I’m glad, and jealous.
The Shower Thoughts may be the most common, or most commonly known, especially for those outside the writosphere. I definitely suffer from them. You’re alone with your thoughts, suffering from the psychological vulnerability of being nude, surrounded by warm, comforting water and scents you enjoy. Your mind will wander. You will be free to wander.
Philosophizing aside, which is a word I had to google to ensure I’m using correctly, there is a hypothetically easy solution to this.
Bath crayons.
There are shower-proof notepads, too, but I have not personally tried them. I have tried bath crayons. Perhaps it is the brand I got—they did not work, and only created a hint of a visible line when I was pouring my soul into it—or perhaps it is the mindset of using overly large crayons in my fist like I’m back in kindergarten, but it did not work for me.
It was likely more an issue of the effort; if I’m trying to record an idea, I’m not going to enjoy having to hamfist a crayon and get an arm workout trying to scribble on uneven shower tile. I won’t speak for others, but it doesn’t mesh well with my typical writing routine.
I am most commonly and viciously the victim of ideas when I’m trying to fall asleep, however. It is not even at night; it happens during naps, too.
I’ve tried several things to beat this. I’ve had tiny notebooks under my pillow, but writing in the dark while near-blind without glasses requires more brainpower than my sleepy self likes. (Also, it kept falling under the bed. Ultimately not worth the effort.)
I do have a perpetual note on my phone where I record lines. It is more concrete lines (narrative or dialogue) than rough ideas, and it is a very short list, because I don’t think I’ve ever managed to use it at night.
I have had writer friends say they use voice recording apps, though they specifically mentioned it during driving commutes rather than bedtime, and I do in fact have one on my phone. I even added it to my lockscreen so I don’t even have to unlock my phone to use it.
However, this in turn has two problems for me specifically: the blatant fact of the matter is that if I’m sleepy I don’t want to be squinting at the light of my phone, whether to type or open up an app, and even more unfortunately is that I really, really don’t speak as well as I type.
Speaking—and handwriting—cannot keep up with my thought processes when in creative mode. Typing hardly can. I’ve come to realize my brain processes my creativity very specifically, and any disruption sends the whole thing off the rails. (It’s why I can only write chronologically, for an example.)
When I am plagued by near-sleep thoughts, I usually imagine both dialogue and narrative. Yes, I tend to picture characters, so it tends to be more dialogue-heavy as they do whatever they’re doing, but frequently I get into the accompanying narrative, too, and usually in the strong, poetic way that sticks with readers, too.
One of my favorite lines, “Dreams come to her like locusts in a plague”, was a product of these kinds of thoughts—and was so important to me that I simply thought that single line over and over so I could remember it. No writing down, no speaking into the dead of night, and I probably sacrificed the rest of my perfect image of that scene to save that one amazing line.
Because, of course, I remember none of this when I wake up. Which is the problem.
Maybe I will end up using a voice recorder—maybe some other piece of technology that won’t blind me in a dark room will pop up, or maybe I’ll figure out a way to bring up the app without that brightness. Maybe I’ll return to the notebook trick and puzzle out my handwriting later.
The moral of this story is to cast a wide net, and figure out what works for you. Don’t let ideas escape if you’re momentarily away from a pen, computer, or phone. You have to seize them to use them, especially if they are as special and emotionally evocative as my nighttime ideas tend to be. Good luck, and happy idea-ing!
