Writer’s Crack!

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWriter’s crack is real!  No, this isn’t about the pants-sliding-down-while-you-type crack, like the plumber’s crack of comedy gold.  We’re talking about things that put you into a frenzy to write a newly inspired story.  Every writer has triggers, and if you’re lucky you can find them and use them to get out of a slump.

A couple of years ago, while browsing through a used book store, I found a book about English fairy tales and–of course–purchased it.  (That’s it, up on the need-to-read shelf.  The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by W. Y. Evens-Wentz.)  The subject has always fascinated me; it was not my first, and certainly not my last such book.  Some weeks later, on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I had a moment to crack it open.  The introduction (Yes, I read introductions, prologues, glossaries, appendices, and maps.) was both pleasantly surprising and completely cringe-worthy, in the way of dusty, old, and almost forgotten books.  Apparently, I had in my hand a recent reissue of a book that JRR Tolkien had referenced for his world building.  Even more pleased with my lucky find, and hopefully under the influence of a little mystical foresight, I happily delved into the first chapter…

AND FIRMLY SHUT IT, bookmarked on chapter two.  The after images in my head, while my body lay snugly anchored on my couch with the book clasped in unmoving hands, spun like leaves heralding the start of a stormy spring.  The stories!  Characters!  Battles!  Lighting, tempests, swords, grief, love, fear, and loss that is an ache that pierces to the soul’s depth.

I held completely still.  The overfull brain must not be disturbed.  A new/old world sloshed against the sides of it.  For a dry and dated tome, first published in 1911, it held a surprising lushness.

I was aware of movement deep in my psyche.  There was something lurking in my mind.  Lurking like an elder god and getting called to the surface.  The Leviathan rises, or worse…

Unfortunately, I already had three multi-book story arcs that had been clawing at the insides of my skull, rudely pushing each other out of line and snarling to be first.  I closed that wonderful book HARD–like the doors of Tartarus–just to preserve my soul from the punishments I likely deserved.  It contained the breath of Titans snoring, and (as anyone who has lived with a chronic snorer learns) I heard the sound of something nearing an awakening.

It sits on my shelf, unobtrusively, but whispering to me I quiet moments.  I know that like Pandora, I am doomed to open it…

Eventually.  For now, it sits.  It’s writer’s crack, or something like.

Hopefully, a story is really in there, but I think I may need to be a more experienced writer to do it justice.  It’s not the only story I have saved for later in my career.  For now, I have my other stories that I am currently passionate about, and willing to learn on.

This past weekend I added three more of The Lost Library book series to my shelf, risking collusion among them.  Myths are my weakness, and my wellspring.  I–apparently–like to live dangerously.

And that, folks, is about as close as I get to a written book review.  Not an Amazon review (I’ll do those anytime for books I like, especially for independent authors), but an actual blog review.  It’s not my thing, and lots of other people do a really good job of them.  And despite the heavy-handed use of metaphor in this post, it really doesn’t begin to describe what was happening to my brain.

But, I am curious if this has ever happened to any of you?

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Triggers and Knee-jerk Reactions

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Have you ever caught yourself ranting about a topic that you didn’t think you felt strongly about?  I have.  (Not about last week’s post; I’ve been stewing in that topic for a while. Don’t silence the writers!)

Did you stop yourself mid-rant, or blunder ahead, full of piss and vinegar?  Did you observe yourself?  Take notes, mentally or physically?  Observe others and their reactions?  Did it spark story ideas?  (I am SO putting this jerk in my next book!)

Since this blog is mostly about my painful and exhilarating journey through writing and self-publishing, I’m assuming most of you are writers of some type.  It’s fairly common for writers to observe the world around them.  Some of us even use ourselves as guinea pigs, just for the chance to observe life from the inside.  I’m not sure if that’s a sane choice, but writers are not known for their sanity.  Our working conditions make us the mad hatters of the modern world.

A lot of people use food to self soothe after a trauma. (Show me on the taco where your feelings were hurt.)  Some people use mind altering substances, both the legal and illegal types.  (I don’t have a joke for that; the results are too depressing.)  People also use therapy, in the form of a friend’s shoulder or even a professional shoulder.  (Would ‘Professional Shoulder’ look good on a business card?)

Writers use those techniques, too, but I find the most soothing thing is to write about trauma.  We go where the discomfort is and prod it, because that’s where the best stories hide.  Written inside out and upside down, taken apart, put back together, then stuffed into a ill fitting costume.  Then I let it go.  Frankenstein’s monster lurches down to the village, once again, making everyone uncomfortable.  (He sits at your table, even when there are plenty of empty tables in the coffeehouse. Or something.)

I believe that is a writer’s job, to help us see other points of view.  Entertain us, yes!  But also teach us something about the world.  Something we haven’t considered before.  Open our minds. Give us something to believe in, or show us something we feverently hope will never come to pass. Story telling shouldn’t be safe. Help us find our boundaries, our line in the sand.  True north on our moral compass.  Help us to find a place to stand firm, where we can say, “No. You move.”  (Can you guess my favorite superhero?)

I’ve been adding people to my Facebook page–writers mostly–and not often those I agree with. At this point in an election year, I would normally be nose down in books, avoiding commercials and social media like it’s… well, anything related to politics and socializing.  Instead, I’m sponging it up, spongingly spongelike, yellow and absorbent, bits of the scrubby pad wearing off, and starting to smell a bit.  It’s been educational.  In some posts the tiniest disagreement on syntax can start a flame war, accruing hundreds of hateful comments, while the actual topic gets ignored.  Other posts are a think-tank, with ideas and disagreements being examined rationally and with great thought. Most posts–of course–fall somewhere in between.

Is there a point to this blog?  Perhaps it’s just a continuation of last week’s rant.  Perhaps I’m filling the space, avoiding that future post about helpful grammar books. Perhaps I should take a chance and post one of those uncomfortable Franken-fiction stories.  I’m not sure.  I think I’m just squeezing out a bit of the excess moisture.

Happy writing, and don’t be silenced!