Devil in the Details

Icon by Peg Ihinger

“Your first idea is rarely the best one.” –Peter Attia

That gets said a lot about writing, for good reason. One of the standard recommendations for developing a character, plot, or scene is to write a list of 20 things that could happen next, and then pick what does happen next from the final ten. The theory is that the obvious clichés will be at the top of the list, so choosing from the things one came up with later will make the story more original and unexpected.

However, there is a major problem with applying that quote too literally: ideas come in a variety of shapes and sizes, as well as emotional commitment. The initial idea that sparks a story can be something as general as “I want to write a book about grief,” or as specific as a mental image of a woman standing at the top of a half-ruined tower, talking to a flock of crows. Writers fall in love with places, plots, characters, times, events, and saying that they should move on to a “better idea” is pointless.

The other thing is that, particularly for writing fiction, the devil is in the details. “I want to write a book about grief” is not a better idea than “I want to write a book about Berlin in 1920” or “…a book about Sam, the space pirate.” You can’t tell which one is a better idea until you see the result. A book about a spoiled brat of a girl who loses her fortune and tries to regain it by “marrying up” could be a forgettable modern Romance, or Gone with the Wind.

Furthermore, different writers need different ideas. One writer will think about “…a book about grief” and it will resonate for them, resulting in a masterpiece, while the writer sitting beside them struggles to come up with so much as a potboiler. The second writer may write their masterpiece about the woman talking to crows, which to the first writer feels is too limiting. And so on.

In addition, “a good idea” doesn’t always make for a good book, and “a bad idea” doesn’t always make for a bad one. I can’t remember how many stories I’ve recommended to friends with the caveat, “This has a really stupid basic premise, but if you can suspend your disbelief about that, it’s really well done.” I also can’t remember how many books I’ve put down with a sigh because the author had a great idea, but what they did with it was unreadable.

“The devil’s in the details” means the particular characters, the actual plot and/or setting, the word choice and syntax, description, dialog, action, structure, thematic coherence, etc., but above all, how well the writer puts all that together to convince you, as a reader, that everything, from the clock on the mantel that always chimes off-key at noon to chasing the escaped giraffe through downtown Miami, makes some weird and interesting kind of sense within the context of the story.

And, of course, the ultimate problem with “a good idea” is that different people—whether they are readers, writers, editors, or agents—can and do often have very different ideas. Not just about what “a good idea” is, but about what a good story is. The masterful characterization of Sam, the space pirate, will draw praise from some readers, while others complain that it gets in the way of the action-heavy space opera they wanted. The off-key clock chimes will be a telling detail for some readers and a dreadful distraction for others.

Ultimately, “a good idea” is the one that the particular author finds compelling in some way, the one that both kick-starts their process and keeps it going until the story is finished. I like things that set a direction for the story, but that have room to grow and twist unexpectedly when the characters do the unexpected in mid-book. Other writers I know have to start with one or two characters that fascinate them—a situation isn’t enough. Others pick a place or time or craft that they find interesting but know nothing about, and read up on it until something goes off in their head and they can write a story about making puppets or building dams in the Roman Empire, or conducting an orchestra in zero gravity.

Occasionally, a writer finds an idea that is just interesting, not really compelling. It’s an OK idea; it makes a little glow in the backbrain, but doesn’t actually light it on fire. These are the ones that go in my ideas folder—some are scraps of dialog, some are descriptions of a situation I’ve imagined or a picture I’ve seen, some are quotations from books or songs, daydreams, or accounts of events. They’re things that don’t spark anything yet, but that have possibilities. They’re flint, or steel, and eventually, if I bang the right two together, they’ll make fire. They’ll graduate from two OK ideas to one good one. Sometimes, it takes two or three ideas—flint and steel and kindling, to extend the metaphor.

What sets off sparks in your backbrain is what sets off sparks in your backbrain…and if something doesn’t set off sparks, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to make it spark. Whatever that damp squib is, it’s not your good idea. Pass it along; eventually, that idea may find the writer for whom it sets off an explosion.