Various Writing Mysticisms
"Ever consider the scripture never meant the glories? That maybe we'd be prey to the gods?"- Alex, 'No Gods For Drowning' by Hailey Piper
For as much as I love magic in fiction, for as much as I spend time thinking about the unexplainable, I have to confess to being an empiricist. Like in real life. I tuck my four-year-old into bed, say “there are no such things as ghosts…well, I do believe in them, but as like, metaphors…,” he’s totally advanced for his age and gets it. That said, I’m not going to claim to know all the answers. If you’ve seen a ghost? Well, I’ll never discount anyone’s experience. But I don’t with my chest believe in literal spirits and demons and other unseen influences.
There: raised by doctors. Protestant. Midwestern by choice. However, I am most comfortable thinking in the language of spirits. I was, like, really Christian for really long, everyone. All of you watching Righteous Gemstones and see a comedy? I see where they had to tone it down, my dudes. So while this here blog post I’m about to unfold is probably actually about like brain chemistry and hydration levels or whatever, the way I’m framing it is mysticism. Because the world is big, and hell, it might as well be spirits out there.
The story already exists, out there in the ether somewhere, and writing is the process by which the story reveals itself to you. I’ve started personifying my stories when I talk about them. Well, I don’t really talk about them, but that’s a whole other superstition. When I think about stuff I’m editing, it’s almost like knowing a person for a month vs. a year. I have a whole poem, like four pages of poem. It’s the closer to my manuscript. Like five months after saying “I am finished with this poem, at least I think,” I opened up the file, looked at the poem, and said, “my bad, I didn’t know you were a sestina.” All that really means is I’ve decided to rewrite it as a sestina. But I like to think of it as the poem letting me know something about itself, not me forcibly changing something.
Making “soundtracks” for a WIP to both set the tone and jar me out of my comfort zone. Sometimes I joke that my genres are “horror” and “Chicago” and “beach.” While there’s definitely overlap in all these genres, having the same songs associated with the same WIP helps me re-center the project in my brain. It’s also useful to think of things in different mediums, i.e. “what if this poem was a short story” or “what if this novel was a hardcore punk concept album.” Having a somewhat consistent writing soundtrack helps me think “what if this song is the soundtrack to this scene/stanza,” which recalls images, scents, sounds, etc. that I might have otherwise not remembered were present. Or that the story might not have told me were present.
My “writing brain” is a room at the end of a long hall. It’s not revelatory to say you have to get in a certain mindset to do an important task. Karl Malone mumbled koans to himself at the free throw line, and he shot a solid 74% for his career (just missed them when they mattered). What I’ve learned about myself lately is, I like doing lengthy mental pre-writing. Meaning: I like to write in the morning, but first I have to get my kid up and off to school, feed the cat, check email, workout/shower, whatever. That whole time, I’m thinking about what I’m working on. It’s like those old rom-coms, where Matthew McConaughey or Jennifer Garner or whomever would walk through their long office, and seemingly everyone who worked there was waiting until that exact moment they arrived to ask them a question/tell them a thing and then eventually they get to their office, where they do the important work of telling their homies how the date went last night. For like four hours before I sit down to write a chapter, I’m thinking about the chapter. By the time I’m at my desk, it’s like my brain walking into a familiar place.
Your stories are your friends, and you have to know when they need space/you’re asking too much of them. Dude, if your stories don’t wanna hang right now, they don’t wanna hang. Don’t call your poems, either, they already said they were busy. See what the books are doing, maybe one needs to be read. The books are always down to kick it.
Fuck it, follow the white rabbit. Sorry for the Matrix metaphor, but I was just reading this story about a trans man and what the white rabbit means to him and it’s on my mind. You might think I mean “that tangent? Go ahead and explore it. Write an extra 10k words. Indulge your curiosities and let them lead.” Sure, yeah. That can be good. But Neo is told he’s looking “paler than usual” and needs to get out of the house. There is such a thing as too much working. I can’t tell how many times I’ve been frustrated by a story and the only cure was a walk around the neighborhood or taking my kid to a museum or something. Go look at different stuff every now and again.
Or get attacked by a ghost. Then tell that story.
I’d read that story, the one where you get attacked by a ghost.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris
