Matt Heart
There was a time when inspiration looked simple.
My wife and I would sit back, have a few drinks, and watch TV. We’d pause whatever we were watching and start talking about life, about ideas, about “what if?” One night we were watching a scene where someone was losing their breath underwater. The term hypoxia came up. I looked up the definition and immediately thought, That’s a great title for a book.
I started pitching the idea to her right there on the couch. She smiled and said, “Write it.” And that was that.
These days I don’t drink anymore, so inspiration looks different. But it hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s sharper. I’m not searching for ideas — I have too many. It’s never a question of what I want to write. It’s always when. Some stories burn fast. Others sit. I have two manuscripts right now that are a year and a half old, both around 35,000 words — and I haven’t touched them in months. That doesn’t mean they’re dead. It just means the timing isn’t right yet. I write when the story feels alive. When I’m excited. When it pulls at me. Inspiration isn’t a lightning strike. It’s a conversation. Sometimes with my wife. Sometimes with myself. Sometimes with a single word that refuses to leave my head.
My wife and I would sit back, have a few drinks, and watch TV. We’d pause whatever we were watching and start talking about life, about ideas, about “what if?” One night we were watching a scene where someone was losing their breath underwater. The term hypoxia came up. I looked up the definition and immediately thought, That’s a great title for a book.
I started pitching the idea to her right there on the couch. She smiled and said, “Write it.” And that was that.
These days I don’t drink anymore, so inspiration looks different. But it hasn’t slowed down. If anything, it’s sharper. I’m not searching for ideas — I have too many. It’s never a question of what I want to write. It’s always when. Some stories burn fast. Others sit. I have two manuscripts right now that are a year and a half old, both around 35,000 words — and I haven’t touched them in months. That doesn’t mean they’re dead. It just means the timing isn’t right yet. I write when the story feels alive. When I’m excited. When it pulls at me. Inspiration isn’t a lightning strike. It’s a conversation. Sometimes with my wife. Sometimes with myself. Sometimes with a single word that refuses to leave my head.
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