Haunted by Story Ghosts and Regrets

Welcome back to you and me both! It’s been *checks notes* eight months (!!!) since I last penned a post on my own website. Ugh. How has it been that long? Am I the worst writer you know? Wait—don’t answer that just yet, because if you’re tempted to say “no,” the following tale might change your mind.

A few months ago, while my spouse and I were out running errands, I came up with a random yet Brilliant Story Idea, as good writers are wont to do. The concept so excited me that I shared it with my spouse to get his thoughts on it. He agreed it had excellent potential. We talked about it for a minute or two, and then the conversation turned to more pertinent topics, such as, “What’s for dinner?”

My Brilliant Story Idea was vivid and original, and in sharing with the spouse, it was not confined solely to my imagination. Choosing to forgo the immediate labor required of writers with spontaneous inspiration, I decided to write down the basics once we got home. I think you know where this is going.

So yeah, I did NOT remember it. I didn’t even think about it until a week or so after that, and by then, the Brilliant Story Idea was nothing more than a ghost, a mere hint of an idea that now haunts me. I’ve spent a modicum of time since then trying to recall even a tiny shred of what the story involved, but as if it were an unembodied spirit, I’m unable to grasp it.

The annoying thing about all this is that I remember the details of when I shared it with my spouse.  We were bopping along our usual route home, making a left turn at the light near the gas station. The sky was bright and clear, and the temperature was hot. I began the conversation with something trite along the lines of, “The good thing about having a writer’s mind is that story ideas can come from anywhere.”  That’s where my recall stops. These are NOT usable details.

My husband’s memory is even less helpful than mine. I asked if he remembered me telling him about it, and the good news is that I’m not just dreaming up this incident. He has a faded memory of having the conversation, and he remembers telling me that he also thought it was a Brilliant Story Idea. The bad news, of course, is that he has zero recollection of the actual story itself. And why would he, if even I—the creator—can’t remember it? (Still, thanks for nothing, sir…)

The only thing I’m certain of is that the story is speculative fiction, as that’s what I almost exclusively write. It’s also likely young adult, though it could be adult or middle grade, as well. For some reason, I want to say time travel is involved but maybe not. That might be wishful thinking, as in, I wish I could travel back in time to the moment this Brilliant Story Idea struck me so I could do the proper thing and write it down.

I’m certain this isn’t the first time this has happened, though I cannot clearly remember past instances other than the one I’m writing about. And I’m one-thousand percent confident I’m not the only author who has committed the cardinal sin of failing to annotate their inspired book ideas before they evaporate. How many great American novels or bestsellers-turned-summer-blockbusters have been lost to the unwillingness of a writer to grab pen-and-paper (or their notes app) when the idea strikes mid-shower or at 2 o’clock in the morning?

I’m trying not to spend too much energy dwelling in this little self-created pit of regret (aside from writing this cathartic post about it.) For one thing, the odds I’ll one day remember this story are not in my favor, unless I find myself in the exact set of circumstances that gave birth to it in the first place. I have no clue what those circumstances were, so chasing this particular ghost won’t get me anywhere.

There’s also the inconvenient truth that even if I were to have kept track of this Brilliant Story Idea, it likely would have ended up in my story nursery, neglected as are so many of my other plot bunnies. My folder is filled with dusty outlines and snubbed summaries that may never see the light of day. This latest one would have just added to the growing pile.

All that aside, this story ghost hasn’t left me yet. Some nights, when I lie still and manage to quiet the prattle of never-ending to-do lists in my head, I can almost make out the story’s diaphanous form, hovering just out of reach. And who knows? Maybe it’ll come back to me when least expected. Stranger things have happened. The true mystery is, if that moment arrives, have I learned my lesson?  Or will I roll over as I mumble to myself, “I’ll definitely remember it in the morning.”