"What happens is what Nabokov described as a throb. A throb or a glimmer, an act of recognition on the writer’s part. At this stage the writer thinks, Here is something I can write a novel about. In the absence of that recognition I don’t know what one would do. It may be that nothing about this idea—or glimmer, or throb—appeals to you other than the fact that it’s your destiny, that it’s your next book. You may even be secretly appalled or awed or turned off by the idea, but it goes beyond that. You’re just reassured that there is another novel for you to write. The idea can be incredibly thin—a situation, a character in a certain place at a certain time."
I found it interesting that Amis writes a disconnected and much altered first draft ("doodles") long-hand in a notebook. I'm imagining him writing out of and around the throb mentioned above almost radially.
A visual image: A Victorian fountain built into the railings of a church yard in the centre of a city - for the benefit of dogs of the parish. The fountain is on the North side of the church yard facing outwards and, as a result of the overlooking buildings, never receives direct sunlight. The statue above the fountain is of an angel with wings and arms folded in prayer. Mysteriously, every few weeks, a single red rose is left across the hands. Just as one becomes used to seeing a flower early in the morning every few weeks, you see no more. Stopped, vanished.
Same as for startup ideas? The throb is easy - it is the rest of it, the craft - that is hard.
"What happens is what Nabokov described as a throb. A throb or a glimmer, an act of recognition on the writer’s part. At this stage the writer thinks, Here is something I can write a novel about. In the absence of that recognition I don’t know what one would do. It may be that nothing about this idea—or glimmer, or throb—appeals to you other than the fact that it’s your destiny, that it’s your next book. You may even be secretly appalled or awed or turned off by the idea, but it goes beyond that. You’re just reassured that there is another novel for you to write. The idea can be incredibly thin—a situation, a character in a certain place at a certain time."
I found it interesting that Amis writes a disconnected and much altered first draft ("doodles") long-hand in a notebook. I'm imagining him writing out of and around the throb mentioned above almost radially.
A visual image: A Victorian fountain built into the railings of a church yard in the centre of a city - for the benefit of dogs of the parish. The fountain is on the North side of the church yard facing outwards and, as a result of the overlooking buildings, never receives direct sunlight. The statue above the fountain is of an angel with wings and arms folded in prayer. Mysteriously, every few weeks, a single red rose is left across the hands. Just as one becomes used to seeing a flower early in the morning every few weeks, you see no more. Stopped, vanished.
Same as for startup ideas? The throb is easy - it is the rest of it, the craft - that is hard.