Last night’s rain is over, and now the sun is shining and the air is so wet you can hardly breathe. The thermostat just turned ninety. On this spring day that feels like summer, I think now is the perfect time to visit an old friend: Ray Bradbury.

But we won’t stay long — there’s too much to do, and I can’t stay cooped up in here all day. We’ll ask him about his lists and then get moving. Deal?

But along through those years I began to make lists of titles, to put down long lines of nouns. These lists were the provocations, finally, that caused my better stuff to surface. I was feeling my way toward something honest, hidden under the trapdoor on the top of my skull.

This is a method I’ve used myself, often subconciously. Just writing words and feelings, names and locations, random bits that some day might have meaning. Let order have a siesta and let your mind go free, digging through the past and revealing pieces of your imagination long forgotten.

In his book Zen in the Art of Writing(which I highly, highly recommend), Bradbury describes his lists and how they led to fully realized ideas:

The list ran something like this:

THE LAKE. THE NIGHT. THE CRICKETS. THE RAVINE. THE ATTIC. THE BASEMENT. THE TRAPDOOR. THE BABY. THE CROWD. THE NIGHT TRAIN. THE FOG HORN. THE SCYTHE. THE CARNIVAL. THE CAROUSEL. THE DWARF. THE MIRROR MAZE. THE SKELETON.

I was beginning to see a pattern in the list, in these words that I had simply flung forth on paper, trusting my subconscious to give bread, as it were, to the birds.

This particular list would lead to his novel Something Wicked This Way Comes.

It’s a very simple thing to do, writing lists. If you ever find yourself wanting for ideas, or just interested in seeing where your subconscious might take you, sit down outside in the sun, on the patio, in a chair, and just write down what comes to mind.

You might be surprised.