the magic of writing

For me, writing fiction is all about trusting the imagination. Out of that darkness emerge all sorts of surprises and happy accidents. It’s as if hidden in the depths the story is already complete, and it’s up to me to bring it into the light of day. Whoever it is in me who creates these stories knows far more than I do.

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Creative people are often required to appear humble and self-effacing, receiving all praise with bowed head, when really such praise isn’t humbling at all, it’s gratifying. What is humbling is the relationship we have with this other creative entity within, one that eclipses the ego entirely and makes us slaves to our craft.

I believe this is where the ideas of automatic writing and channelling come from. If I were to give my creative self a name and claim a special relationship with this superior being, claim that she was somehow extraneous to me, ironically I would have fallen foul of my own ego. I would have attached special importance to something that exists in all of us and is owned by none of us. It’s simply a question of gaining access and to do that is hard work as any artist will tell you, for many skills must be acquired, an artistic trade learned.

All I know is this relationship is the most precious thing on earth. This is what makes us fully human. I pay homage every time I pick up the pen.

I might have written more but my neighbour has someone in felling a tree in her garden. There’s something about the sound of a chain saw…

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