By
Flic Everett
Like many women, I often suffer from insomnia — and, all too frequently, I can’t sleep because I’ve thought of yet another brilliant idea that is sure to make my fortune.
In the past month alone, I’ve thought of three film plots (two rom-coms, one thriller), two novels, a Museum of Cats, a range of low-calorie pies for women and launching a stall selling retro confectionery at vintage fairs.
Obviously, being a self-employed full-time writer with a family, I haven’t done a thing about any of it. But given the rising unemployment figures — 2.51 million in July this year — this is surely the time for creativity and self-employment to flourish.
Like many women, I often suffer from insomnia — and, all too frequently, I can’t sleep because I’ve thought of yet another brilliant idea that is sure to make my fortune.
In the past month alone, I’ve thought of three film plots (two rom-coms, one thriller), two novels, a Museum of Cats, a range of low-calorie pies for women and launching a stall selling retro confectionery at vintage fairs.
Obviously, being a self-employed full-time writer with a family, I haven’t done a thing about any of it. But given the rising unemployment figures — 2.51 million in July this year — this is surely the time for creativity and self-employment to flourish.
You only have to watch the current series of Dragons’ Den to feel a sense of kinship with the entrepreneurs who arrive full of hope for their wind-turbine clothes dryer, or robotic shopping trolley.
And we’re not all idiotic fantasists. According to John Williams, author of Screw Work, Let’s Play (Prentice Hall), and leader of a new series of workshops, these creative types are ‘scanners’, people whose brains scan across so many ideas it often seems impossible to focus on just one.
I am a typical scanner, according John, and it seems I’m not alone. There are about 70 people crammed into the latest Scanners workshop in East London — all, like me, suffering from too many ideas and not enough focus.
We’re all here to learn how to choose that single idea and build on it for the next 30 days. It could lead to a hobby, a business or a radical life change. Dave, a self-confessed scanner who’s helping out tonight, is soon moving to Australia as a result of a workshop he attended. But what if you don’t get anywhere with your fabulous idea for scented birthday cards, or hamster portraiture, within a month?
‘It’s time to drop it and do something different.’ says John. ‘When you have an idea, several blocks can get in the way. If it’s a business idea, people think: will it make money? If a book idea: will it get published? But thinking like this can kill your idea. You need to try it for 30 days.’
I’m beginning to suspect he’s right. I have written one novel that’s currently with an agent, and am thinking of writing another — but I’m torn between two plots and scared that if I choose the wrong one, I’ll waste a year and it’ll never see the light of day.
Next it’s time for the ‘running around bit’, as John calls it. In a large room next door, there are various designated corners. Corner One is where you identify your idea, understand which aspect most excites you and condense it to a one-sentence proposition. Corner Two is the ‘make-it-happen-ator’ area, where you beat obstacles and look at what you can achieve in 30 days.
And then there’s Corner Three, the ‘take-off’ zone, where you write on a communal poster what you plan to do and what action you are going to take next. There’s also a Connections board, where people can list their email addresses and explain what help they need to get going.
‘Someone to pay my mortgage for a year,’ in my case. However, others are more sensible, listing ‘DVD expert’ or ‘someone who builds website communities’. We all herd into our corners and divide into groups of four.
I’m with Bill, a management consultant who wants to help clients explore their creativity but isn’t sure where to begin; Prash, a young man who wants to build a website where people to swap ideas (er, isn’t that the internet?); and Ali, who has the genius — or mad — idea of holding Latin lessons over cocktails.
In Corner One, I tentatively outline my second novel plans. ‘Could you write it as a blog?’ asks Prash. ‘Not … really,’ I venture. ‘Are you doing it for pleasure or to get published?’ demands Ali. Both, I admit.
‘What’s stopping you?’ barks Bill. I feel as if I’m on Dragons’ Den. But there’s nothing like three strangers asking difficult questions to focus your mind. ‘I worry I’ll waste my time,’ I say.
‘How much time will you spend thinking and worrying about it?’ asks Bill. I see where he’s going — and by Corner Two, I’ve agreed to choose one of my plots, write a synopsis and one chapter and see how it goes in 30 days.
By Corner Three, Ali is fired with enthusiasm, as she’s met someone who knows a Latin teacher in a private school who could help her. Meanwhile, I’ve met a woman who wants to make kids’ knitwear patterns based on vegetables.
‘I need knitters,’ she explains. I really can’t help — but, it transpires, someone else can. By the time we sit down, most people’s ideas seem to be taking shape. Finally, we’re asked to turn to the person sitting next to us, to ask if they feel they’re now committed to 30 days of pursuing their idea.
My neighbour is high-achiever Jim, in a flamboyant pinstriped suit and silk tie. He confesses he’s not sure how to implement his plan to get businesses using stand-up comedy skills in presentations, despite lots of interest.
I am nothing if not bossy, so I use the five minutes’ discussion time to give him a point-by-point description of what I think he should do (it involves contacting local Chambers of Commerce and using Twitter). To my surprise, he seems genuinely grateful and later stands up to tell everyone how useful it’s been.
Everyone seems to be leaving with a plan. There is excitable discussion and arrangements to hook up via Facebook or email, business cards are swapped and hands are shaken.
‘Don’t forget, it’s just 30 days,’ reiterates John, as everyone heads home. ‘You have nothing to lose. Worry later, when you’re about to quit your job, if it’s the right idea.’
Two nights later, I sit up in bed at 3am and write the entire synopsis of my second book down, without worrying about whether it will get published. As John points out: ‘You don’t find out what works by thinking about it. You find out by doing it.’
Though for now, sadly, that brilliant ‘cat museum’ idea is on the back burner.
The next Scanners night is on October 12 in London, but workshops will soon be going national. They cost £15-£20 on the door. See scannercentral.co.uk for more details.
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