I’m walking around on a grey and drizzly day in late January. One of those days when you look around you and think: why do I live in this country? I’m on route to the tube, to meet my stinky, stuffy friend, the Central Line. Each day, we spend hours in each others’ company – it’s a relationship of convenience. We need each other. We wish we didn’t. I huddle miserably under my crap umbrella, avoiding puddles, dodging dog shit, thinking about how we really need to move house … dull, dull, dull … when I see a trail of pink petals on the pavement, pointing towards a garden path.

I look up at the trees (a reflex reaction, I know there are no leaves, let alone flowers) and I the scour the cold empty flower beds for hidden floral treasures. Where have all these petals come from? How long have they been there? Who put them there and why?

Suddenly my mind is awake – my imagination raking it for possibilities. This is where my story begins…

I love moments like this as they lift me out of that lethargy that I frequently sink into, particularly when I find myself undertaking one of the more tedious activities of my daily routine. I love realising that it is still there.  Whatever it is. That thing that makes writers write. Sometimes it goes away for quite some time and I wonder if it will ever come back. But it does, eventually.

As my excitement bubbles and my pace quickens – a spring in my step – I think about my set; how every detail matters. A lone paper bag. A half empty glass of wine. A scarf strewn across a sofa…Everything is there for a reason.  What effect do I want my set – and every object on it – to have on my audience? What do I want them to think? Are these objects clues? What do they say about my character’s past/present/future?  I think about how I want my set to spark instant curiosity, before anyone even moves or speaks on stage… before anything happens. Slowly but surely, I sketch my set in my mind’s eye and I colour it in, knowing every detail, every corner, every crevice.

Like many writers, I often get caught up and obsessed with an idea, rather than a story. And although I’ve always been intrigued by all things abstract, it doesn’t translate to engaging theatre. As I contemplate my set and its references to character and action, I think about one of Ola Animashawun’s favourite pieces of dramaturgical advice: plays are about people.

One thing that I am certain writers will find useful about Euphoric Ink’s next Intro to Playwriting Weekend course in London – is the way in which the opening exercises and discussion encourage writers to think visually – to show and not tell. What can the audience see and what does it tell us about the character and their world? What do the character’s actions tell us? What does the character appear to want and what seems to be in their way? What are they doing about this – what tactics are they using – in order to achieve what they want? What risks are they taking? And how does each action they choose to make keep the story moving forward, engaging the audience so that they aren’t looking at their watches or trying to figure out how they can check their text messages without pissing everyone else off?

Easier said than done? Yes, definitely. But we’ve got some fun ways to help you do it.

To find out more about Euphoric Ink’s next London Introduction to Playwriting Weekend Course, click here.

To tell us about something random that has inspired your writing, post your comments below.