“Douche Ex Machina”, should totally be a T-shirt.

Some people just let the words flow out of them like they’re some kind of conduit to a deeper well of inspiration accessible by all of humankind.

You’re not one of those – in other words, you’re not a bad writer.

Sure, sometimes you open the dump valves in the back of your brainspace and let the stuff spill forth. Sometimes that’s even unconscious. But unlike some, you don’t look at the result and say “Eh, it’s good enough, someone’ll be stupid enough to read it and tell a million of their friends so this’ll become a God-awful movie starring either Tom Hanks with a hilarious mullet or Kristen Stewart in a way that sets women’s rights back about forty years.”

Fuck that. You DO own this. You’ve shown us how you own it. You take pruning shears to the limbs of your work. You push conventional thinking down a flight of stairs. You drown your darlings. You kick down your complacency and deliver the Mozambique Drill.

Doing that takes more courage than tapping into some mystical über-writing. We should all have such balls.

@Josh –

Don’t mistake me. I don’t think writers who view this differently from me are bad writers. The end result is what matters in terms of the audience; this process chatter is for us, the writers, the process monkeys, the people who need to think about how the sausage is made. Some truly excellent writers, writers I admire and love, do things in ways I cannot comprehend. You look at that Tim O’Brien interview I posted, and he strays a little toward quasi-mystical notions. And Tim O’Brien is a fucking incredible writer; far greater a writer than I will ever be.

Yes, you’re right that anybody who just opens the valve and dumps words is likely to be a bad writer (though, I’m sure a few truly gifted, talented assholes have been able to pull that move off *and* have it be awesome — I’m just not one of them).

But perceiving writing as a spiritual or mystical thing isn’t bad. Just as being mystical or spiritual isn’t bad. It just isn’t for *me* — if I cede control of my writing to the ether, I will lose what (for me) makes writing special.

– c.

You know how you like to say “Your mileage may vary”? Well, what I took out of that was that apparently you want to zen-bang Jesus with Glowy Writing Stick. I assume “don’t molest your deity” was on one of the tablets Moses dropped, but I can only believe that is some kind of a sin – even if he wants it. Especially if he wants it.

One of the things that really first made me think your the kind of writer I like, Chuck, is your take on writer’s block – it so harmonizes with how I feel about it, that it made an easy bridge for me to read the rest of your (sometimes) coherent ramblings. There is a lot of wisdom there, so kick ass advice, and it’s uplifting for another writer to read. Whenever I get stuck, I like to read stories about people writing – The Dark Half is my personal favorite – because it puts this “mystical” process into an understandable form, something my monkey-brain can grasp and mind-hump. It gives me a kickstart, gets me back in the saddle, once more into the breach, and [insert random rally-type cliche here].

No, I do not believe the Muse is a mystical force – I’ve even been fairly insulted when someone I used to write with said “hopefully his muse will come back to him soon”. Apparently, she didn’t realize how much thought and work I put into what I do… she thought that some greasy-haired Mediterranean bitch in a toga was ear-licking the secrets of the Universe into my ear for me to write down; if that was the case, why the hell did I spend so much time setting it all up? If this super-hero essence can overtake me and turn raw ingredients into literary gold, why the fuck should I even bother? This is divine Hand of Pesci shit, inspiring the prophets to write the Bible, sot hat thousands of years later, televangelists can spange on TV.

Yes, I think the concept of the muse is fucking insulting. I created this – me. Not some bitch, not Obi-Wan, not fucking Neo. Me. I have had inspiration and epiphanies, but that shit came from suddenly clicking things into place – it’s a rush, but it is still wholly natural and a product of me. And this is not meant as a slap to the actual people that have helped me towards those epiphanies; but they also are not semi-divine Greek goddesses (though, I wouldn’t mind one or two them. Rawr).

Josh just said something really fucking profound:

“Doing that takes more courage than tapping into some mystical über-writing. We should all have such balls.”

That is worthy of being a fucking mantra. Good job Josh – you hit it right on the fucking head.

Buddha Juice!

I’ve been thinking about this subject on and off all night and had a few more thoughts. Like I said yesterday, you’re right, that moment of epiphany that feels like your body has squirted all its endorphins into your bloodstream (and maybe it has, hard to know) is really me just hacking into my subconscious and getting the Buddha Juice, as you so lovingly referred to it. You’re right. Okay? I said it.

I’m an art director by day. I do artsy fartsy things everyday, all day long, and on schedule. I can turn that creativity on and off like a faucet. Because I have to and because my kids need togs and I need a roof over my head and lights to see. I’ve been working as a “creative” a very very long while, almost fifteen years now, and I’ve trained myself to produce on demand. When I was starting out, I feel in love with each of my projects, and it was hard as hell to deal with the criticism from clients and my superiors. But that was a young John Hornor, and I grew thicker skin. And consequently, I started to care less and less about what I was doing because it became familiar, humdrum. Creation by rote.

I turned to writing to try and get back that initial love for the creative act.

This is just for me, like my writing rules are just for me. It doesn’t apply to anyone else and reflects nothing on anyone else. But I don’t want to take the mystery out of writing because then it will become just another job I have to do, rather than something I go to willingly. I want it to remain a mysterious mistress, rather than a humdrum, frumpy wife.

And I have no problem being owned by someone or something. You have to serve somebody, in life. But that’s just me. I’m not a control freak.

@John:

Sure, sure. Everybody’s got their own way into the story, and the act of writing means something different for everybody. Totally diggit.

I’m fortunate, I guess is the word? that even after 15ish years of professional writing, it hasn’t lost its luster. Definitely not rote. Every new project is a new beast to tame. The creative act certainly *feels* mystical, so that’s why I get what you’re saying, I just refuse to let myself believe that it’s somehow mysterious and divinely inspired.

What it is for me is that I want the project to be mysterious, not the process.

– c.

“What it is for me is that I want the project to be mysterious, not the process.”

Man, you’re wise. Is your beard white?

I think you just nailed what I’ve been missing. Thanks for that.

Not the beard.

Just my balls.

“The wizard’s drape,” I call them.

Or, “The hoary goat curtain.”

Sometimes, “Two sherpas leading the ladies to the mountain of enlightenment.”

…

What were we talking about?

– c.

Gettin all mystical about whether writing is mystical, are we?

Alright. Here’s an example of what happens when I sit down and the dining room table to write fiction.

I read where the story is. Kinda like watching a movie. I catch up on what happened and where we left off a few days ago. Then I write down what happens. The characters are pretty well developed in my brainz. So I know how they’ll react. And I type it up. This dude does this so this is how this chick responds.

Yeah, I have one of them outlines about what happens. I know where I want them to end up in a little bit. But the little frackers don’t always do that. Or sometimes they do, but when I go back to revise, they have completely other ideas.

I really don’t know how else to describe it. I turn on the movie in my brainz and type what happens.

I think you’re spot on with everything here. There have certainly been times when the words were flowing and I was deep in the creative zone. I felt like I was lifting handfuls of mystic mojo from a golden bucket and shaping worlds and souls with every flick of my fingers.

Awesome feeling.

However, I’ve never bought into the mystical vibe, the “specialness” of the storytellers, etc. Writers are entertainers and educators. There’s value, meaning and honor in the profession.

Is it uniquely special? Well, sure, in the same way that your kidneys are special. Without them, you can’t live very well. Are writers *more* mystically important than farmers, lawyers, politicians, retailers? Are kidneys more important than livers or pituitary glands? No, they just perform a different function.

Steve:

We’re not dissimilar in the way our writing day unfolds, then.

As described, it’s wholly non-mystical.

I love it, though.

– c.

@Tony –

Whatever, man. My kidneys are special as shit. There’s two of them. And they don’t fuck around. They own this beast of a body. The liver? Liver’s just a prison bitch. Lungs try to fuck with the kidneys, then LUNGS GET SHANKED.

…

What I mean is, I agree with you.

– c.

I think the lack of mysticism in writing is one of the reasons I don’t do a whole lot of it. It’s not like I lived in a bubble where the arts were this thing I couldn’t grasp because I lacked the Jesus Juice. I went to an arts school. I can draw, paint, play the saxophone, sing, and write, to varying degrees of quality. I just don’t really do any of those things.

When I talk to most other artists, they speak of two things: work and drive. They admit that it took hard work to get to where they’re at, but they had the drive to do it, usually out of love for the craft — perhaps where the mysticism comes in. I feel none of that. It’s just hard, mostly unenjoyable work so you can go on to do more hard, mostly unenjoyable work.

I think that’s why school’s one of the few things I really enjoy doing on a regular basis. To me, it’s easy. This is also probably why I surround myself with other creative types and am generally envious of real artists. I’d love to find that… whatever it is that makes people want to create.

Fuck, that came out a lot whinier than I intended. I dunno. It doesn’t depress me that I don’t do any of these things I used to do, really. I just thought a non-writerly opinion may spruce this place up a bit. Or, y’know, maybe I’m talking out my ass. Whatevs! I enjoyed the post regardless, and apologise if I sound like like a big blubbering vagina.

@Danielle –

I am now trying to envision the literal movie in my head of what a big blubbering vagina looks like and sounds like.

So, y’know, thanks for that.

You don’t sound whiny. It’s perfectly okay to not want to be a writer. We’re kind of nuts. But see, that’s why I don’t want “writer” and “storyteller” to be considered “special.” People want to be writers for a lot of the really wrong reasons, and one of those might be that the art and profession is somehow considered magical, special, etc.

– c.

There’s this unfinished post in my queue at Word Studio. I really aught to finish it, given this.

I let the mysticism sneak in, when I’m not careful. It’s bad for business, though.

[...] of us masters in our own fashion. The estimable Chuck Wendig ne Wending ne Wendigo ne Stinky Beard chimed in today with something about dirt and coal dust and how he’s the douche God and, as such, does not so much [...]

You’re welcome.

I think if everyone wanted to be a writer nothing would ever get done. The would would grind to a halt while people talked about their muses on the internets, at least until everyone’s was shut off for not paying their bills. Assuming, of course, that anyone was left to collect the bills instead of just writing about it too… Hmm. Anyway. I just know it frustrates people (mainly Josh), because I have the potential, just not the desire to bother.

Perhaps I just have a chronic case of the lazies. This is also likely.

Well said.

I do seek out zen moments in life. When I’m deep in a bought of creative energy, whether on the dance floor, creating an art quilt, or writing, it feels much like an out of body experience.

But those moments won’t occur unless I show up first. If the muse deserts me, it is usually because my ass isn’t anywhere near a chair (or my computer, or a piece of cloth, or my tango shoes).

*writes down “tango shoes” as necessary writing equipment*

*snort*

Hey, you never know where or when ideas will come to you. A girl has to be prepared. In a pinch, I could probably dip their four inch stiletto heels into an ink well and use them as a pen.

I got no patience for people who think we writers are out there channeling mystical spirits. I’ve worked too fucking hard at this for too let some spectral bitch take the credit. Yeah, ok, sometimes it feels spooky — you’ve got the primordial goop bubbling away down in the bottom of your brain chamber like a big pile of magma, and suddenly a hot, streaming pile of that shits breaks through your headcheese like the Yellowstone Caldera just let go, and you’ve got copy flow knee deep all the way to the Mississipi and you’re like “Where the fuck did THAT come from?” Fact is, though, where it came from is you — it came from all the years you’ve spent reading and writing and reading about writing and thinking about writing and every so often all of that gels and goes boom. But those eruptions are rare. Usually you gotta sit down and work at it.

…

y…

yes.

What he said.

I have to go wash myself now.

– c.

First, it’s nice to know someone else is aware that Yellowstone is going to blow and destroy us all.

Second, well, yeah. In my view there’s mystical shit involved anytime we even manage to wake up each morning and push ourselves through a day. I’m not going to label it, because I don’t have the right to do that. But it seems to me that anyone who does work is Doing Work.

The folks who just sit and atrophy don’t get to join the party.

Sez me.

I like King’s analogy to uncovering an artifact in your subconscious. It encompasses the “magic moment” of spontaneous creative orgasm, while allowing for the crucial truth that what springs forth from my mind will not come forth perfect, because I am not a mystical conduit, I am an imperfect vessel.

Stream of consciousness writing is a helpful tool to get that stuff out of your head, but literary glossolalia is as useful to a writer as diarrhea to a weightlifter.

I can’t say writing is mystical or from another consciousness where everyone shits Junior Mints (I wrote that specifically to make everyone think twice next time at the theater). It’s something we may feel compelled to do, but it’s just something to do. And some of us actually receive checks for it. The rest, well, they’re plotting a gruesome robbery of those checks–no witnesses.

Chuck, I was inspired. Despite what you say about writing not being mystical, you certainly can coin phrases with the gods.

I too don’t believe in the MUSE because we do work too damn hard at this to lay the gifts or the garbage of our work onto a mystical being.

However, I do agree with Julie. “Anyone who is doing work is Doing Work.” And there certainly is something about being in the flow when everything just comes. I for one think that we connect with something other than ourselves and we participate in creation. Granted, the founation for what we write comes from us and everything we have stored inside us (researchd, old conversations, experiences, and feelings).

So, for me writing is mystical, but it’s not your definition of mystical.

@Janie –

Why, thank ya. That’s a nice thing to say.

@Jesse –

I now have to imagine people defecting Jr. Mints. This is not the best way for me to start my morning. Touche, sir, Touche.

– c.