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Wednesday, January 23, 2008

The Inherent Flaw of "Original Idea"

So last night as I was falling asleep, this brilliant idea struck me. It electrified me and I couldn't sleep. It was for a website, and I was so sure it would be the thing that made me rich. It would revolutionize a bunch of stuff, it would rake in the dough and then someday I'd sell it to Google for billions of dollars. I'd split the money up between my investors and co-designers, because obviously I don't know the first thing about programming or design.

The idea wouldn't let me sleep. My mind was buzzing with possibilities and ideas and how I would do it. I was networking with friends in my head already, planning on who I'd involve and who I'd ask for help. I was coming up with clever stuff. I felt like giggling. I was hysterical over this idea.

Stoker woke up to roll over and he muttered something to me, something about loving me I think, and then I started telling him my idea. He was coherent enough to ask me one question. I launched into my answer and was waiting for some positive feedback when I noticed he was snoring already. It irked me. I mean, just because he worked a 16 hour day, he's tired? Yeah right. And just because he worked a 14 hour day yesterday. . . he always pretends to be so worn out . . .

But the idea kept going. I couldn't sleep. I felt exultant over my ingenuity. Of course, when I had tried to tell Stoker about it, it sounded ridiculous . . . yet I knew in my heart of hearts that it was truly brilliant.

Then the dread hit. I had been afraid to even utter my idea, knowing that ideas attack in blitzkreig fashion and that somewhere, someone else might be having the same idea . . . or someone had already HAD the idea.

I was tempted to get out of bed and check online, to see if anyone had already done it. I didn't. But I went to meet the problem anyway, advanced worry, if you will (it's the way I am). I felt an ulcer forming in my stomach, a new one, a companion for the old ulcer, which began when I first discovered that I'm not the center of the universe (two years ago). A wave of nausea swept through me. The thought rang through my brain, echoing, "I'm not original."

This morning I checked. Every address I typed in has been used for websites of a similar nature.

I can feel another ulcer forming.

3 comments:

Jodie K said...

Bono said it best...

"Every artist is a cannibal,
every poet is a thief"

I think of that with each bit of marketing copy I write ;)

Em said...

It's ok Nic, all my good ideas have been taken too...

Aries327 said...

Jodie K -- Too true!

Em -- It sucks. Let's cry together about it.