“Where do you get your ideas?” That’s surely the most-asked question posed to any novelist.
And the answer is probably one of the hardest. Maybe right up there with “How do you breathe?” Because, surely, for writers, ideas are a bit like breathing—sometimes even hyperventilating. If only I had the time and energy to develop even a fraction of the ideas I find intriguing.
Something we read, something we see, something see hear—yep, almost something we breathe—can spark an idea. And many times, I find that I don’t really recall where that first, precious, spark of inspiration came from. I just know some tiny glimmer took fire and there I was, in the middle of a new project.
Seeds of the Idea
But for one project, perhaps the defining project of my career, that first glint is still a vivid memory, nearly 40 years later. This was the birth of my Arthurian epic Glastonbury, The Novel of Christian England.
I remember being intrigued with Glastonbury for many years, perhaps since I first encountered the phrase, “Glastonbury, Holiest Earth in England.” And then the wonderful “Chariots of Fire” movie popularized “Jerusalem” also known as “The Glastonbury Hymn” from the William Blake poem:
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!
I wasn’t sure what it meant, but somehow it gripped me.
The Idea Flowers
My first opportunity to walk upon Glastonbury’s mountains green came in 1985 when I was in the west of England with my then editor researching what has become my Where There is Love series. I included a side trip to Glastonbury in our itinerary.
My epic novel Glastonbury, The Novel of Christian England was born as we were leaving when my editor read aloud from a pamphlet she had picked up at a bookstall: “‘Did our Lord ever come to Glastonbury as a lad? The story lingers not only here, but elsewhere as well. The tradition is that our Lord, entrusted to the care of his Uncle Joseph of Arimathea by his mother Mary, daughter of Joseph’s elder brother, accompanied Joseph on one of his expeditions to Britain to seek metals for his flourishing trading company.’”
I gave a shout of laughter. “What? That’s crazy!”
But Carole persisted. “No, wait, this is interesting. It says, ‘Perhaps there is some truth in the tradition which still lingers in Somerset that St. Joseph of Arimathea came to Britain first as a metal merchant seeking tin from the Scilly Isles and Cornwall, and lead, copper, and other metals from the hills of Somerset, and that our Lord Himself came with him as a boy. The tradition is so startling that the first impulse is to reject it summarily as ridiculous.’”
“It sure is,” I said.
Still, Carole continued. “‘Amongst the old tin-workers, who always observed a certain mystery in their rites, there was regularly a moment when they interrupted their work to sing a quaint song beginning, “Joseph was in the tin trade.” “‘If this is so, it is quite natural to believe that after the crucifixion, when the church was dispersing under persecution and in answer to the Great Commission, Joseph and his party would come to this land with which Joseph was already acquainted.
“‘Among the cherished possessions the little band brought with them was the cup used at the Last Supper in Joseph of Arimathea’s Jerusalem residence, an ordinary cup in everyday use in his house, now become a sacred treasure, since with this cup of olivewood our Lord had inaugurated the new covenant.’”
Now my imagination was captured as I mused, “What a novel that would make!”
One of my most consistent inspirations is sermons. Pastor will say something, and I’ll be like, “That would be an awesome thing for a character to learn.” And then the rest just works itself out.
I don’t put the sermon in the book, just weave the concepts I learned from it into the story. And so far, none of the preachers have minded, because I do ask their permission and mention them in my acknowledgements.
Oh, yes, Dienece–and I should have mentioned Scripture. Lik you with sermons, I don’t go hunting for verses, I just pay attention if something sparks when I’m doing my daily reading. When writing Glastonbury I was focusing on Isaiah–it was perfect–no coincidence there!
For my first novel, The Pounamu Prophecy, I had a character but no story for her. When I moved back to New Zealand I did a Maori language course and as part of it we had aMaori elder speak of when he was a child how the government had burned down his village to ‘tidy things up’ for Queen Elizabeth’s visit in 1953. All the older women in the tribe died within a year of a broken spirit. I had my story!
What an amazing story, Cindy! Heartbreaking. And I know exactly what you mean–my next post will be a similar story about having a character, but no plot–until the time was right.
Thanks for sharing. Jerusalem is a song the English Cricket team sing as do there supporters every day when they are playing.
I enjoy hearing where authors get there ideas
Oh, Jenny–I’m so glad to know that fact about cricket. I tell the story of the Ashes in my book Where Love Calls. We just returned from a trip to Victoria–timed in large part to attend a Jubilee Tea. We did a Jubilee Sing-along, which included “Jerusalem.” I cried–as i always do.