Every story stems from a crisis. As readers, we are most interested in the struggles of our fellow humans. Our interest is most easily captured by bad news, stress, conflict. Not that the outcomes must be bad – on the contrary, we love stories that depict triumph in the face of adversity. But the thing that most easily grabs us is when tension, crisis, and turmoil erupt into everyday life.

This is my list of ideas. Ideas are a dime a dozen. Am I worried about someone stealing my ideas? No. Ideas are not finished pieces. A hundred people could write starting with the same idea and no two finished products would be alike. Feel free to use an idea from here. If you see an idea you like, run with it. If you get a finished piece from it, let me know. I’d love to read it!

This is the list I had so far prior to setting up this site. Not much, but it’s a start:

  • A boy and his attacker, would be kidnapper, assailant, whatever, are in a severe accident. The soul of the attacker chases the soul of the boy across a hellish landscape, possibly purgator, or some as-yet-undefined version of the afterworld. The attacker has died, but has not realized it. The boy is in having a near-death experience, and must find his way back to his body before being consumed by his pursuer.
  • A man is abducted by a serial killer who is collecting ‘characters’ for his next novel.
  • A man awakens in his small, rural town in southern Ohio only to find everyone in the town has been brutally murdered.
  • A man awakens one morning to find himself in the body of another person - a serial killer.
  • A man is abducted by a secret society consisting of the decedents of aliens abandoned on earth at the dawning of mankind.
  • A woman psychologist is given charge of helping a John Doe recover his memory after a bizarre accident brings him to her hospital naked, alone, and without identification. The only memory he has is that he dreams the same dream every night - a dream of a stone he refers to as the ‘navel of the earth’.
  • A young boy and his parents are trapped in a life of rigorous routine. Each night, they go to sleep to the rythm of war drums, each day they wake, and work their farm, fearful. The father is strict, often referring to the loss of a previous child.

Mildly blamed abandon,
     a vanishing madness
     poignant over the boundlessness
     of hot yard, pagan-hearted discontent;
     of sweet man, with verbatim extreme control.

Mighty punishment out of turn
     casting the bound shrine,
     a bygone tomb,
     where indeed electricity
     arcs truly their legend.

Regional bloody faith
     itemizes the witnesses.
     Grave-wide perceptible excuses
     condemn religious humility
     with calculated infected ejaculations.

Weakness wrought out of structure
     holding dearly
     to the offending horn.
     Faltering skins swallow anything,
     downcast moonlight their restraint.

I set up this new site today. It’s my first step in publicizing myself as a writer. My wife recently gave birth to our first son (also David L. Day), and during the course of her pregnancy, as well as the three weeks I was off after the delivery, I came to realize something. I want my son to learn a lot of things about life, and one in particular is that he should never give up on pursing his dreams.

One of the things I’ve learned in life is that the best way to lead is by example. I realized that I had given up on pursing one of my dreams, one that is very important to me. Being a writer.

I’ve taken it back up. I don’t expect to become rich or famous, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make a full time living out of it. But there is no reason, nor has there ever been a real reason, for me to not be a writer. I write, I love to write, and if I happen to be good enough, I’ll make money at it.

My son should have the confidence and persistence to follow through on his dreams, no matter where they may lead.