Where do ideas come from?
I could say everywhere.
But I would have told you nothing because you still would not know where to look.
Or perhaps you know already.
The blade of a leaf. The binding of book. The hook of the letter f. There’s one hanging on the crane that is being used to build the tall building across town and which I can see from my window. There’s another one at the tip of the Jerusalem Chords Bridge at the entrance to the city and though it may be out of my reach, I promise you that I can nab it with the nib of my pen.
Ideas sprout from seeds and are born of uteri. Many are created ex nihilo.
Once ideas make their way into the world, they flow, fly, flutter, flare and fascinate.
And if an idea is lucky enough to be developed it may become a poem or play, a novella or myth. Or otherwise it might grow to become something else. But only if it is fostered.
The master of ideas is a goddess or a god. But creativity has a price.
Decisions will have to be made. The decisions of a deity.
Who will live and who will die. Who will have blonde hair and who will be bald. Who will drown in water and who in fire. Who will wear heels and who will be stuck wearing their old pair of Uggs.
The world of ideas is colourful, wonderful and lush. You can reach out and touch it.
But only if you dare to dream.