I don’t wait for ideas anymore. I set the table, light a candle, and make enough noise with my pen that they get curious and wander in. If you’re here because your novel well feels low—or because you’re ready to wade deeper—this is how I grow new ideas on ordinary days.
The truth I write by
Creativity isn’t a lightning strike; it’s a weather system you can cultivate. Reading loads the clouds. Tiny daily pages create wind. Curiosity supplies the heat. When the system meets a question I can’t stop circling—storm.
My non-negotiables
- Read outside my lane. Crime, folklore, essays, cookbooks. I’m not seeking “inspiration”—I’m stealing textures: a verb, a smell, a superstition.
- Write small, daily. Two hundred and fifty words. Messy by design. I stop mid-sentence so tomorrow has a handle.
- Protect the ritual. Same chair. Same mug. One song on repeat. Ritual tells my nervous system, “We do this even when we’re not brilliant.”
The “Rowan 5×10” week
Five ten-minute blocks. Fifty minutes total. Foolproof in chaotic weeks.
- Monday — Seed: Free-write about one question that snagged me: Why does the river bend here? Who profits from this superstition?
- Tuesday — Mimic then morph: Hand-copy a paragraph from a writer I admire, then rewrite it with my subject, my voice. Training, not publishing.
- Wednesday — Tilt a trope: Keep the spine, twist the vertebrae—change time, motive, narrator, or setting.
- Thursday — Obstacle drill: Give my protagonist a want; list ten obstacles. The last three are always the strangest—and the best.
- Friday — Final frame first: Write the closing image of a story I haven’t drafted yet. Endings act like magnets for middles.
Six dependable idea engines
- Constraint Box: 1 location, 2 characters, 3 hours. The box births invention.
- Debt & Cost: List three prices my character refuses to pay. Make the world demand one.
- Map Swap: Take a real map; swap two labels. Live with the consequences.
- Ghost the Ordinary: Pick an object I use daily and ask, What if it keeps score?
- Borrow a Spine: Outline a myth in eight beats, then replace every noun, setting, and motive.
- Headline Alchemy: Combine two unrelated headlines as if they’re one secret story.
When the well feels dry
I lower the bar to the floor. Ten minutes. Bad first draft, on purpose. Then I change a sense (write a scene without sight, or with only dialogue), or I walk without earbuds and let boredom do its quiet work. Boredom is a truffle pig for ideas.
Research, but tiny
I set a timer for eight minutes: one obituary, one recipe, one municipal bylaw. I’m not chasing facts; I’m collecting friction. Friction starts stories.
On fear (mine wears good shoes)
Perfectionism arrives in a business suit and says, “Standards.” I smile, pour it tea, and keep typing. Drafts are where I’m allowed to be wrong out loud. Revision is where I become precise.
A note on influence
The authors who steady my hand all say some version of the same thing: read a lot, write a lot, forgive your first draft, follow curiosity, keep going when life is messy. I’ve tattooed those ideas onto my routine. They haven’t failed me yet.
Your turn
If you try the Rowan 5×10 this week, tell me what sprouted. Or share a question from your own “Huh?” list. I collect those like river stones in a jar on my desk. When it’s full, I know another book is on its way.