"Where do you get your ideas?"
Every writer gets this. Hell, I even get it; lots of folks want to know from whence some bizarre nonsense I deigned to put on video spawned. Although to be fair, you can't just dance in a rubber gimp suit on the internet and not have somebody want to know what the hell it's all about.
Actually, strike that; yeah, you probably could.
Depravities of the externalized human memory aside, there's never any good answer to that question. There's all sorts of okay answers: life, pain, joy, observation, introspection . . . you name it, somebody's claimed it. But in my experience, ideas come from wanting to have them.
It's that simple. It's an urge to say something, express something. It's trying to communicate, but doing it in a way that words can't encapsulate. Think about it: you can tell someone the entire plot of Casablanca, but it won't be the same expression of the concept as sitting through the film. The nuance, the flavor, the zen of the thing is lost. Someone wanted to say that specific thing in a way words just wouldn't contain.
Ghostbusters isn't about catching ghosts and feeding Rick Moranis to a helldog; it's just the form that the need to speak took. The Big Lebowski isn't about a layabout freeloader who ends up in a lopsided noir adventure; that's just the way that concept had to come out. Transformers isn't about dogs humping and robots peeing on -- wait, no. That's exactly what it was about, sorry.
My point is, the thing communicated is more than the setting, the characters, the interesting twist that's put on it all. They're just a different kind of talking.
So what do I need to say so badly? A few things. Things I've learned, things I took away from experiences, and that overall epiphany that ties it together. In short, I'm trying to explain the sound of one hand clapping.
Knock that off, you double-jointed bastard.
I think . . . I'm afraid, however. The trappings of the story leave you a lot of room to feel foolish. I'm afraid it won't be any good. I'm afraid it will be silly. I'm afraid that once it's done, I'll feel like it wasn't worth it. Mostly I'm just afraid that what I have to say isn't going to be considered worth saying.
Writing is solitary in creation, but once it's out of your hands you either reap the acclaim or suffer the consequences from everyone who deigns to read it. It's one thing with the videos and reviews; not that those are inconsequential, but I'm trying to express a lark and a laugh there. Nothing more, nothing greater. But when you set out to tell the big story . . .
It's funny how scary a blank white screen can be.