Stream Of Consciousness: It’s Fun To Write Dumb

Stream of Consciousness: To say or write the first thoughts that comes into your head without hesitation, no matter how disjointed, confusing or nonsensical they may be.

In celebration of writing about one of my favorite methods of brainstorming, I am going to perform this entire post using the tactic above. The only things I will edit afterwards are any spelling or grammar errors. If anything comes to mind, I will write it but because I myself can be a little disjointed, confusing and nonsensical, I apologize in advance for whatever God awful state this post becomes. Not that all my previous posts are particularly planned out, I’m a very disorganized individual at times and I swear often too so I’ll probably delete or censor any uses of the words “****, **** or *******.” Woops.


Anyway, onto the point of this drivel and that is what I like to call the “Stream of Consciousness.”

I first picked up this technique when I joined a community of writers and artists online. After spending several years without writing after losing a great deal of progress on a novel due to a PC breakdown, I was rusty and had no idea where to begin writing again. Luckily, this community was very active and had a lot of writing workshops going including what they call the “Writer’s Hot Seat.”

This involved a series of challenges or tasks which all amounted to writing 1000 or more words on a daily basis. Each session would have a particular theme and each day had a new objective. These typically lasted a week each Hot Seat.

The same week that I joined this community they were beginning a Hot Seat themed “Stream of Consciousness.” The challenge began with the first day being to write whatever the hell came to mind. The first thing I wrote amounted to “What the hell am I writing, why am I writing this, I don’t understand” and so on and so on until I just decided that it was too personal to put up publicly.

It essentially provided the ultimate outburst of every insecurity I had as a writer at the time. It outlined why I had stopped writing, how I felt stupid for letting a technical failure stop my passion and how I was concerned that I could quite possibly fail. Not at becoming a writer, I was concerned that I’d fail to even properly pursue it.

I read that stream and it gave me a surprising amount of insight into myself for speaking it. I could see where I’d hesitated to write and where the borderline was crossed into the “not give a ****” territory. That realization amused me and for some reason, it felt easier knowing that I didn’t have to hold back.

So rather than posting that personal block of text to the workshop, I wrote another 1000 words, this time beginning a story. I had no idea what I was writing about, all I can say just now is that it began with something about how worlds are created. As I wrote, I expected to be coming up with some rather typical fantasy plot. Until the first few sentences were finished and the story started to take form.

The second day was the same again with the general idea being that something new would be written but I broke the rules a little. Instead I continued the story I had worked on the day before, and I did this for the entire Hot Seat. In the case of this one, it was only five days long but those five days became the first draft of “Dream Lab.”

After the Hot Seat was completed, I looked at the results and felt completely refreshed. After years of discouragement from a single incident, I felt like I was a writer again. The fact that the spelling errors I’m going to have to correct later are at a minimum here is just a bigger boost in itself: Stream Of Consciousness saves the day again!

Seriously folks, you’ve probably heard the term “just write” a few times if you’re a writer seeking advice on how to churn out a story but I don’t think many of you will fully grasp what that means.

Just write really means just write. Put your fears and hopes and dreams in the middle of an important story narrative if they come to mind. Completely switch off from the fact that you’re typing and just type while you sit there staring into space like you’re on some kind of drug that I would never recommend for the creative process.


The brain is always active but it’s just like a muscle you regularly use. Imagine you’re punching a punchbag, if you pull your punches you won’t hit as hard. If you swing with all your might you aren’t as precise but you pack a mean punch when it connects.

That’s what your brain is doing when you let it loose with the stream. You miss so many times with the outbursts of self-doubt or what you think you’re going to watch on Netflix later (I prefer NowTv but can’t afford it, I’m still using my ex’s Netflix, if she doesn’t say anything why should I, right? Right?) (You see what I mean?) BUT when you connect with the target you started swinging for, you hit it hard!

Ignore your hesitant thoughts and your personal speculation about whether you’re writing anything of worth. THAT’S what “just write” means. It may feel like a fool’s errand when you start off but believe me, it’s worth putting in that extra force to each punch.

Because you could potentially hit gold at any moment.


Writing Exercise: “Witnessing Power”

This week I’m sticking with the theme of “Witnesses” to practice writing from alternate perspectives. Not every major event in a story needs to be told from those involved and can sometimes give greater insight when told by an outsider.

I always find it interesting seeing how regular people adjust to superheroes in stories so thought I’d take a crack at writing that kind of short story myself.

Objective: Write from the perspective of someone witnessing the use of powers they don’t understand. This can be via superheroes, supervillains or any other kind of power that is commonly perceived as unnatural.

The Cleanup Crew

I began reading comics when I was a kid and they lasted all the way into my adult life. You’d think that would give me the creative imagination to accept something like superpowers in the real world.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot the comics missed out back then. Things that you never think of, things you wouldn’t want to think of.

When they showed up on the news, it was amazing in a funny kind of way. People flying around, stopping bad guys and saving the day. We all felt like we were in a movie or something. So long as it didn’t mess with our lives, why would we care about it all beyond the entertainment?

Things started getting tense once the governments started giving them official jobs I think. It began with the term ‘civil servants’ and began to spiral downwards. Soon the “Specials” were putting the enforcement in Law Enforcement.

Even then, it wasn’t too bad. We had a few “accidents” at the start but things began to quieten down…until the war began.

I don’t remember why Europe and America came to blows but it certainly had something to do with the Specials. Their existence was more terrifying in war than a stockpile of nukes, now all we needed for that were radioactive people.
I don’t think any of the Governments were happy with that but somehow they all fell in line, at least until their armies were jam-packed  with militarized Specials.

Now I’m walking through London City. The fighting here has stopped, for a time. In another war I’d be the kind who gets drafted automatically. I should feel lucky that the Specials are around to fight my battles for me… but looking over London City I feel a weight in my stomach like I’m gonna hurl. Amongst the destruction there are men and women, casualties on both sides. They’re mainly Specials, London City was evacuated before the showdown began but that makes it worse.

You don’t know what you’re going to get when you pull up a body. They’re all burned but some don’t burn the way they’re meant to. Buckingham Palace got blown up yesterday by the glowing purple man they were carrying out. He was confirmed dead but his skin just kept glowing. They threw him onto the back of the body truck and suddenly they were blinded by complete darkness. That’s what they saw anyway but what we saw was something crazier.

One minute it’s a typical cloudy day in London, the next a dark shroud forms around the palace. The wind starts to pick up, drawing towards it and we all brace, gripping whatever we can find. My fingers felt like they were tearing off around the time I realized that it wasn’t wind.

That dead man had left us with a black hole, slap bang in the middle of Buckingham Palace.

It was gone again in seconds but when the darkness lifted, the palace was a shambles. All the men working down there weren’t just dead, they had disappeared. All but the one who told us what happened.

When they found him, he was already close to bleeding out. There was no way we were saving him, with his legs gone the only thing stemming the blood was the huge chunk of rubble that had crushed him from the waist down.

They never told us about that in the comics and it wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was dealing with the ones who were still alive, especially if they weren’t one of ours.

An American Special called Solus had been one of the guys to lead the charge on London. A few days into the cleaning up we found him. He had a bum knee but he was alive and his temper was fierce. We followed orders to keep back and call in the Specials to take care of him.

They were good and proud about catching someone from their most wanted list, too proud to remember how dangerous he was. Not that I can blame them, we all thought his bum knee would be the end of the fight for him. Idiots.

Two of them start dragging him off explaining he’s a classic prisoner of war while four more follow close behind. Just as they’re giving the signal for us to carry on the cleanup, they get engulfed in flames. Solus goes full power, clearly he’d rather die than become a prisoner of war.

The flames miss my crew by inches but it’s getting bigger. We’re about to turn tail and run when suddenly it all goes out at once. All that’s left is Solus, passed out on the ground and six of our own writhing Specials, screaming as the flames eat through them.

This time, I really did hurl. They sure as hell never showed us anything like that in the comics…

Writing Exercise: “Change Of The Times”


“Change Of The Times”

Objective: Write from the perspective of someone witnessing the unveiling or testing of something new and life-changing! This can be a technological advancement, the enforcement of a new unexpected law, anything that would change how people live their lives whether it’s a big or small change.

We never seem content with the technology that we have. There was a time when the single shot muskets were considered revolutionary but these days it isn’t worth s**t if it requires both hands and doesn’t fire at least sixty rounds a minute.

Surely there’s someone out there who would prefer the traditional musket but they sure as hell aren’t going to parade around with it when they go to war.

It’s the same for me with transport. I preferred the good old days of the classic ‘car.’ Sure, it was a huge chunk of metal that we sat inside but they were simple and effective.
We had roads that navigated where we should travel and in what direction.  It wasn’t always as efficient as you’d hope – after all, almost everyone was using one at the same time – but even in it’s failings it had comforts.

You could travel yet still sit out of the rain, there were heating and air conditioning facilities, you could play music or just socialize with your family and friends who were travelling with you. It doesn’t sound like much but the way things have changed, that social outlet has been all but forgotten.

The day they showed off the hoverboard didn’t seem all that important. It was a fun, quirky little thing, sure, but nobody would actually buy one seriously! At least, that’s what I thought.

Then they started making them faster but safer, more efficient, cleaner for the environment. The second they got cheaper, everyone was buying one.

Yes, even me. I was astounded by the technology. We were practically flying! Sure, it was only a few inches of the ground but they added a design that stopped it from ever crashing. They’d implemented some kind of forcefield that encompassed not only the board, but the rider. You could see it there like some kind of blue transparent bubble that acted like a magnet against another magnet. Suddenly, transport accidents were non-existent.

Some people still drive cars but it’s not feasible anymore. There’s no jobs left for car mechanics so if you can’t fix it yourself, you’re screwed. On the bright side, there’s a pretty big surplus of leftover parts so maintenance is cheaper than ever. They don’t even consider the old parts worth melting down.

Part of me wishes I’d kept my car. Thinking on it like this makes me yearn for the chance to drive my wife and two daughters out for a camping trip. Nowadays if we want to go camping we all have our own board. The journey’s quicker but it’s silent. Then again, the girls are a older now so I doubt they’d be up for a camping trip with boring old mum and dad anyway.

Sitting with my wife now in front of the TV, – that timeless creation that never goes away – I feel a little anxious. We’re watching a live presentation by Stephen Employ, the CEO of the company responsible for the hoverboard. If he has something to show off then chances are I’ll have something brand new that I need to buy the girls.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” He begins. “The future is here!”
“He always says that.” I mutter.
“Shh.” My wife hushes me. As much as I love her, she’s that one older woman who’s constantly chasing the new generation of technology. Never mind the girls, the wife is the one who’ll want whatever this is first.
“Since the dawn of the hoverboard, gas emissions have decreased almost ninety seven percent from the age of land transportation.” Mister Employ says. “The invention of the wheel is no longer regarded as highly as it once was, for we have taken to the skies!”

The crowd there roar up in applause and my wife is sitting there, nodding to herself excitedly. As for me, I hate the build up to these things. I’m a no-nonsense guy, I’d prefer to just know what his point is. Employ raises his hands up and the crowd starts to die down.  

“But…We can still do better.” he says once everyone has fallen silent. “It has been my personal goal for years to continue creating environment friendly methods of transportation so that the damage done to this planet by our predecessors can finally begin to heal! A ninety seven percent decrease is phenomenal progress in pursuit of that goal but I did not begin this company seeking ninety seven percent…” He’s sounding emotional now but I know manipulation tactics when I see them. He’s just aiming to get the crowd riled. “…I began this company seeking the full one hundred percent, I’m seeking to rid this planet of gas emissions in it’s entirety!”

His tactics are working, he’s got the crowd cheering even louder now. He lets that one sit with them, lets them chant away, scream and shout like he’s some kind of rock God. The man’s ego doesn’t sit right with me but I can’t say much when half my life is spent using the stuff he makes.

“Well today ladies and gentlemen I have news…We’ve done it.”

A smoke machine goes off behind him and something raises out of the floor. Once the smoke settles I see it looks like some kind of shower cubicle. Without another word Mister Employ walks over to the thing. He slides open the front and steps inside it before closing it over again. A low humming sound emanates from it and suddenly there’s a flash of light.
People in the audience scream and turn away but me and my wife are leaning closer to the TV now. Did we really just see that?

Stephen Employ is now standing up close to the camera on the opposite end of the room, looking right at it like he can see the viewers at home. People in the audience around him are standing up, looking at him in awe.

“You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me!” I whisper. For once, my wife doesn’t chastise me for my profanity.

“I present to you…” Mister Employ says. “…The first working teleporter in history!”

The crowds cheer and my wife begins babbling away about it but I don’t hear her. I’m thinking back to that old car of mine. I’m thinking back to the days that transportation forced us to interact with our fellow man.

I’m also thinking that the next generation of cities probably won’t even have roads anymore.

Writing Exercise: “Eavesdropper”

Occasionally I find it refreshing to put my creativity to the test with some improv story writing. I set a theme and some basic rules then aim to write a minimum of 1000 words. This can also be an interesting group exercise to carry out with fellow writers as it’s intriguing to see how differently everybody writes based on the rules set out for the exercise.  These exercises are performed with no intention to develop the story you write but sometimes, you can unwittingly produce something that exceeds your expectations. It was through one these exercises that I came up with the idea for ” The Dream Lab.”

So I decided I’d start sharing the results of these exercises with you all. If you like the results, let me know and feel free to join in or share your own work.

The theme is “Eavesdropper.” The rules are simple: Write from the perspective of a character that does NOT play a major role in the events you are writing about. They can be involved or in close proximity but nothing they do should be able to change the events taking place. 

The Servant

The kitchen has prepared a fine meal this evening. Master will be pleased.

I take the large metal tray and balance it upon my forearm graciously before proceeding to the dining room. I open the door and am met with the sight of a long dining table seating thirteen individuals. At the head of the table is my Master.

“…how the hell do you expect us to do that? The place is a fortress!” bellows a gray-haired man on the centre right. The oaf is shouting at Master, his host! Has he no manners?

Rather than answering, Master raises his hands when he sees me, gesturing in delight.

“Aha! Dinner is served ladies and gentlemen!” he exclaims, clapping with enthusiasm.

I know that it is an act. He is simply being a splendid host. Nonetheless, we must all play our part. I enter with my small retinue of staff. They have been personally trained by myself and move with the silent grace I have instilled into them. Some would feel pride for their staff carrying their job out so well, but I recognize that this is simply what they are paid for. To achieve less is to disgrace not only themselves but their Chief of Staff and most importantly, our Master.

We place the trays upon the table almost in perfect unison and step back, awaiting our orders silently. At this stage, my staff will take care of everything. As the Chief, I will either stand to oversee things or we shall all be dismissed.

Master does not dismiss us and we are forbidden to speak so we stand attentively, ready to heed any call that beckons us from the table. We are but lowly servants but in my heart I am a faithful sentinel watching over my Master as he converses with this nest of vipers.

These are all men and women of immense power and influence. My Master is equal in that power but in cunning and intellect he is the greatest of them all. He is Barakas, The Merchant King of Qual and his Empire influences the country far more than our foolish royalty. Many know this but none dare speak it aloud. Both my Master and The Emperor would race to strike down whoever dared, albeit for different reasons.

“It is possible,” my Master finally responds. The confidence in his voice is both terrifying and inspiring. “that we will not need to do it ourselves.”

Heads turn from their plates to look at him.

“If that is the case then why in the Three Fires have you bothered to invite us all here!” retorts the gray haired buffoon, spitting food as he barks. Blasphemy and rudeness! A wave of anger washes over me and in that moment I wish for nothing more than to strike him down.

“Be at peace, Orr.” says a younger man. His voice is quieter yet still enforces the authority deserved of him. “Tell us please. What do you mean, Barakas?”

He is Tio, Lord of the Merchant Navy. While the navy remains a force separate of my Master’s Empire they remain a respectful and loyal ally. My Master grins. He has great respect for this man, as do I.

“The walls of the Unaga Stronghold in which His Majesty’s children reside is indeed a mighty obstacle to overcome…from the outside. However, were there a means to bypass the walls then a small force would be all that we need.”

Looking around, I see many confused expressions but Lord Tio and a select few others are already putting the pieces together.

“You already have a way inside the walls?” Asks Tio. “How many can feasibly access it without detection?”

“No more than a couple dozen.” My Master says before taking a bite of a large breast of chicken. He ignores the rising voices around the table. “Impossible!” “Ridiculous!” All their voices shout ridicule but my Master remains unfazed.

Lord Tio raises a hand to silence those around him. He stares at my Master, his eyes glittering with interest.

“Dear friend,” he begins. “Unaga Stronghold houses over three thousand troops. Once the alarm sounds, they will rain death down upon your men from the walls. Not to mention a further five thousand elite guards that will begin marching from all over the city to ensure the safety of the royal children!”

Master Barakas dabs his mouth with a napkin and raises his hand to dismiss over half of my retinue. Only the veterans such as myself now remain, men who have earned Master’s trust implicitly.

“They will not rain death, for they will be out dealing with the rebellion throughout the city.”

All voices at the table fall silent. Master stands and straightens up to his full height. His overwhelming presence seems to consume the air around him.

“The time is now. The people are against this false Emperor. Rise up and the people will follow, giving us the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the Stronghold.”

Tio is the first to respond.

“Even if the people rise, the military will not. They are the Emperor’s men, through and through. We will not defeat them, especially if they seek vengeance for the death of the Emperor’s children.”

Voices of agreement begin to murmur but are quickly dispelled by a bellowing laugh. Even I open my mouth in shock as I realize it is not my Master, but Orr the oaf.

“It’s about time I got ahead of you all on something.” He grins wildly, his fists clenched and shaking in excitement. “You’re not talking about killing them are you Barakas!”

The guests lean back as understanding flickers on their faces.

“The Emperor loves his children more than anything…even his Empire. If you rise up now and prevent the enemy from returning to Unaga Stronghold then my twenty men will most certainly secure them as hostages and secure this Kingdom for us all.”

The faces around the table stare in awe. There is no arguing this plan and they know it, it is their only chance to destroy the monarchy… No…It is their best chance! The disbelief they had previously exhibited slowly turns to delight on their faces.

I stand stoically, my expression neutral, as does Lord Tio. We share a quick glance and I understand that he knows as I do. There is only one lie in what my Great Master has said; When all is said and done, only one man will truly secure the Kingdom of Qual for themselves.

I trace a finger over the blade hidden in my tunic but now is not the time. Worthy rivals such as Tio are most worthy of my Master’s respect…