An excerpt from an essay about writing by Murakami Haruki. My translation from the original Japanese:
In the movie E.T. by Steven Spielberg, there’s a scene in which the alien drags junk out of the closet into a pile and builds an improvised communication device. Do you remember? An umbrella, an electrical stand, table utensils, a record player—I saw it a long time ago, so I’ve forgotten the details, but from ready-at-hand household things the device is quickly thrown together.
And although improvised, it is a fully-functioning communication device that can reach the mother planet, thousands of light years away. In the theater, this scene made such a strong impression on me. Surely a great novel could be written in the same way. The quality of the materials is not especially important.
It’s not that one doesn’t want to write or express anything, but rather there’s a lack of solid subject matter. And thus, until I was 29 years old, I never thought I’d write a novel. I could not build something without material.
The current generation of youth, it seems to me, faces the same condition. That is, perhaps even more than when we were young, they simply feel a shortage of “things that should be written.” Well, if that’s the case, what should be done?
I think the only way is the E.T. method. First, open the back closet, take out the ordinary, everyday junk you find, even if it seems worthless, drag it out into a pile, make an effort, and apply some magic.