a Writer’s Senses Working Overtime
I had a powerful dream about a week ago that’s stayed with me. In it, I receive confirmation that my debut is locked and loaded, ready to be published. In the dream I’m fully aware that it’s being self-published (as I intend in waking life). And this dream version of me is thrilled about it. The excitement was palpable, memorable.
I must admit, the reaction of the dream version of me was notably different than how the (slightly grumpier) waking version of me has been feeling about my impending publication. The difference was so stark that it spurred the awareness that I was experiencing a dream as it occurred. Friends, this is where the dream gets strange. Here was this clueless but excited, about-to-be-published me being observed by another, more-tempered and cognizant version of me. On top of that, I became aware of a third presence. This–shall I call it a dreamworld being? (my subconscious, maybe?)–wrapped an arm around the observational version of me and said, “That’s actually how you should be feeling, you know.”
Yes, that’s three versions of me. Or is it two versions and… something else?
Still with me? I find it telling that the more aware (and slightly grumpy) version of me was able to acknowledge the wisdom of the knock from the dreamworld being. The observation that I should be excited broke through my (very realistic) sense that there’s so much to do, so much to learn, so many obstacles. It forced me to look beyond the wall my waking self has built—a wall constructed from an appreciation of a cluttered and extremely competitive book market. It’s a wall built to protect the low expectations I’ve set. The dream made me realize that there are people who are rooting for me, people who have supported me throughout this long journey. Of course they will join me in celebrating this long-sought milestone. And the size of the group doesn’t matter because the individuals within it do.
See why the dream stuck with me? I sense that the dream’s message is one I’d do well to heed. It reminds me to strive on with a glad and grateful heart. Which has made me more aware of the other senses I have been experiencing of late. With apologies to Andy Partridge and XTC, in the days since the dream, this writer has been feeling like…
“…All the world is biscuit-shaped
It’s just for me to feed my face
And I can see, hear, smell, touch, taste
That I’ve got one, two, three, four, five
Senses working overtime…”
Please forgive the outburst of song and allow me to enumerate, won’t you?
One: Sense of Wonder
Not long after the dream, in the midst of revision work, I came to a fairly pivotal scene, in which a POV character first meets my primary protagonist—a meeting she has literally been waiting for all her life. As I started rereading, I thought of a way to ramp up the stakes. I was pumped, anticipating an opportunity to enhance the story, when I came across my idea, already on the page. Turns out I’d previously had the same idea and executed it.
I could perfectly see the scene, feel the atmosphere of it. Finding that I’d already added this element of tension hit me in a surprising way. I got choked up. My eyes stung and I had to get up and walk it off, gulping for air. I like to believe it’s a powerful scene, but I know this reaction stemmed from something deeper.
I’m sure we all have these moments where we’re able to step outside of our day-to-day and see a bigger picture. If you’re like me, you spend most of your writing time focused on the details—scene mechanics, character dynamics, setting. Not to mention sentence structure, pace, and grammar. Every so often I find myself looking beyond all of that.
Every so often I am shaken awake, nudged to step back and appraise a broader scope. In those moments I realize anew that these characters have become, at least to me, fully realized people. I’m profoundly struck by how intricate and complex their world and its politics and history have become. And each time I am newly astounded by it.
Occasionally such moments are so overwhelming that even after fifteen years, I find myself truly wondering where it all came from, and what it’s all for. I consider that sense of wonder a gift.
Two: Sense of Purpose
I’m at an age where many of my friends and contemporaries are beginning to plan for their retirement, or perhaps a strategy for slowing down. A few have wondered aloud how they might occupy themselves as they ease away from, in some cases, lifelong vocations. I have no such questions. I know exactly what I must do.
After my current trilogy is published, regardless of the outcome, I will be rewriting and striving for the publication of the first trilogy I drafted—the story of the children of my current WIP. And I have an outline for the one after that, in a subsequent timeframe in the same world. That third series culminates in the sack of Rome by the Goths (finally!). Since the real-world story of Alaric and the sack of Rome was one of the initial inspirations for my writing journey, it would be a fitting finale. My goal is to have all three done before I even begin to consider when to hang up my quill and tablet.
In short, I’ve got a long way to go and a lot of work to do. Knowing this, I wake each day with a sense of purpose. I feel my best at night when I’ve taken solid, measurable steps toward fulfilling that purpose.
Three: Sense of Duty
“The world says
Put the message in the box
Put the box into the car
Drive the car around the world
Until you get heard
The world says
Give a little bit of your love to me
‘Cause I’m waiting right here with my open arms…”—Karl Wallinger (World Party)
Yes, it’s mind-blowing to retain a sense of wonder and gratifying to have a sense of purpose. When I think about those two senses together, I’m struck by a sense of duty. Those of you who’ve been reading my essays here (if you have, thank you!) won’t be too shocked if I get a little woo-woo as I explain.
If you’re at all like me, you’ve asked yourself those same questions: Where is this stuff coming from, and why is it coming to me?
As fiction writers, we all come to a place where our study of our characters demands a deeper study of ourselves. For my part, I’ve confronted themes and delved issues that in my prior life I had never been remotely inclined to explore.
Are they merely themes and issues I’ve resisted consciously facing? Have they sprung from my subconscious unbidden? Are they mechanisms for coping? Are my characters, who feel so real, so fully-formed to me, mere amalgams of people I have known or observed? Are they conjured meat-puppets, supplied by my subconscious to fill the roles required for the exploration?
Or is it something deeper—something beyond my comprehension? Are there other forces at work? Is it coming from beyond an unperceived veil? Is it supplied by a supernatural force? The gift of a religious god? Or are these things simply coded into my DNA at some cellular level?
It really doesn’t matter whether I believe there is a spiritual aspect to all of this or that it’s derived from an unrecognized capacity of the subconscious mind. If I truly believe that my exploration has provided any semblance of greater understanding, some illumination of what it means to be human, then my labor has borne fruit.
And if I believe that’s true, then isn’t it my duty to share it? I’ve come to believe it’s so. And my sense of duty has only continued to grow.
Four: Sense of Freedom
There is a benefit to having committed to self-publishing. Freedom.
I have the freedom to make each and every choice. That may sound obvious. I know it would’ve to me before I fully committed to self-publication and started the process. In hindsight, the weird thing isn’t that I didn’t fully comprehend or appreciate the freedom this route would provide before now. The weird thing is that I really didn’t want it. The desire for freedom simply wasn’t a part of my mindset. I think I wanted somebody else to decide things for me, to hold my hand, to tell me what others will or won’t like.
It wasn’t the best path to the sort of authenticity I now crave. I can see now that I’ve grown beyond that sort of compromise.
Every aspect of how this book will look, feel, and arrive at market will be mine alone to make. More importantly, every aspect of the storytelling is mine alone, as well. But there’s a level of freedom that’s beyond those things—one that I’m only now discovering. I can see that my gauge for success has been utterly transformed. I can see beyond my need for validation. I’m breaking free from my desire for the externals that would’ve fed my ego.
As with my sense of wonder, this newfound sense of freedom feels like a gift, and I consider it born of my dedication.
Five: Sense of Trust
As I say, I don’t think I really wanted freedom as much as I wanted someone else’s idea of success. I didn’t quite trust that my stories were good enough. I didn’t trust that what came to me, and then from me, was worthy. No matter how irrational it is, I felt that rejection was equivalent to unworthiness.
I didn’t trust myself to be my own final arbiter.
I’ve come to better appreciate a sense of wonder that remains undiminished. I’m grateful for the sense of purpose it’s bestowed, and I’ve grown an appreciation for the benefits of honing it. Even if I’m unsure of my stories’ origin, I’m convinced that I’m the recipient of something very special, and I’ve come to feel it’s my duty to honor that gift.
After fifteen years, I’ve come to trust that my stories deserve to be shared. I’ve finally achieved a sense of trust that I am a worthy storyteller.
What about you, WU? Are you sensing anything new these days? Are you willing to get all woo-woo to explain your sense of wonder? Do you trust yourself as a storyteller?
