There was something I was going to remember a few days ago, something I’d intended to write down. A story idea: something with such obvious literary potential that the story would almost write itself. All I needed to do was jot down the seed, that little nugget of wisdom which had come to me out of nowhere — out of the blue, as some writer once put it.

Then, in a quiet moment, I’d simply sit myself down before that fragment, and the rest of the story would grow easily out of it.

All I’d need to do was stare at that seed intently for a moment, just long enough to allow the nascent story inside to warm itself a bit; long enough for the nestled sentences to wake up and stretch, form alliances amongst themselves. Cohere. And then the completed story would pour out.

Jack watering his magic beans, the beanstalk roaring up towards the waiting sky, its broad, green leaves unfurling to catch the sun.

A shame, then, that I got distracted before I could tuck that seed away for later use.

Which means that, somewhere out there a top-notch story idea is just loafing, twiddling its thumbs. Loitering behind the high-school gym and smoking a furtive pack of cigarettes. Waiting to attach itself to someone else, no doubt: “Hey mister…”

So if that someone happens to be you: take it, use it: you have my blessings. And crack the whip: I can’t bear the thought of a good idea lying idle…