Authors do some pretty odd things in the name of writing.
Take, for instance, collages.
The last time I did a collage was for an alphabet book I made in the first grade. I remember it wasn’t much fun. Do you know how hard it is to find a picture of something that starts with a Z? I do.
Still, there are authors who swear by collages. With scissors and glue they divine what their character looks like, what they wear, and where they live. Not exactly my idea of a good time, but hey, whatever works, right?
Then there are those authors who buy their characters gifts because they ‘forgot they weren’t real’. Forgot? Not real? Umm, okay. I think I’m just going to walk very slowly away from that one and make no sudden moves.
Before you hit send on that hate mail (I can hear you pounding on the keyboard from here), let me share an epiphany I had recently.
I’m just as crazy as you are. Possibly more so.
While I don’t do collages and I only spend my money on myself, I do have an odd assortment of serendipitous talismans on my desk.
A conch shell found in the middle of a landlocked state goes with a pirate story I’m developing.
A card that seems to have read my mind by featuring my protagonist exactly as I pictured her. Even more importantly, the metered rhyme contains my working title.
I see these found objects as signs. Signs that I’m on the right track, that my stories will have resonance beyond my own creative context.
Beyond the things that find me, I have other items on my desk with hidden artistic meanings.
My collection of Dia de los Muertos figurines provides physical evidence of the darker edges that show up in my work.
Pictures of fairies and fantasy landscapes on my walls give expression to the whimsical, irreverent parts of my creativity.
I may not make collages or buy gifts for my imaginary characters, but I do build shrines to my muse.
The question I’ve been asking recently is why? Why do we have these rituals? Why can’t we just sit down and write?
The answer I’ve come up with is, by engaging the physical world in our creative process, we breathe life into our work. Objects, whether collages or a shell collection, become creative touchstones. They are tangible manifestations of our stories that build a bridge between the imagination of our internal world and the external world of the written word. They are just as big a part of writing as typing words into a computer.
So, what are your creative touchstones? Don’t be afraid to share, you’re among your own crazy kind.
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I handbeaded the necklace my heroine wears, a gift created by the hero. how crazy is that??
I make what the male character does in the book. Hmmm *ponders the oxymoronish concept*
And, I actually have stones to touch, carnelian, mainly at the moment. But there are others that have been blessed by my friend who is a practicing witch.
And, lastly, a Goth-styled goblet stands beside my PC as silent testimony to that fact that one day, I will have a very good, writing related reason to toast with it.
Well, I don’t have anything fun. I must be the most boring person in the world. My desk, which is small, is a relative mess, but mostly paper.
The only thing I have writing related around me are my framed covers, but even they haven’t made it up on the wall yet.
I haven’t gotten so deep into my books that I’ve bought the characters gifts, but the heroine of my first novel and I have been companions for so long that I still occasionally talk to her while driving, or ask her opinion on how to develope new characters.
Some of my inspiration pieces:
A framed print, begged from a friend, that just happened to show my hero and heroine, in period dress and a scene from the story (a story the friend didn’t even know about).
Maps–lots of maps
Music–songs have led to the creation of new scenes or even a whole novel (Thanks Clannad!)
And collages actually do help me, everything from magazine pictures to floor plans to coats of arms to Color Me Beautiful’s seasons.
Dragons. I have dragons around my desk for inspiration. Powerful symbols!
Pictures. I don’t look at art as art, which is why I don’t like abstract art much. I’m drawn to pictures that seem to tell a story. I did a piece in a digital imaging class and I know there’s a story in it. My muse must be still playing with it because she hasn’t given it to me, yet. If I had lots of money, I’d collect calendars because it’s a relatively cheap way to get lots of pictures to use for inspiration.
If I had any talismans for my books, I wouldn’t be able to find them on my really messy desk. I often use music to connect to a character, emotion, story or scene. I find that when I’m driving around with the radio on, a song will come on that sums up everything I’m trying to say or that seems to be sung by one of my characters. I really hate it when it’s a song by an artist I don’t particularly like because I’m compelled to buy the CD and play it over and over again until it’s ingrained into my psyche.
Since enchanted frogs keep popping up in my books, I now have an extensive collection of frog and frog prince items, mostly given to me as gifts. They just make me smile, though. I don’t think they affect my creativity.
Hello! I didn’t realize I was coming up so soon on RTB!
Sorry, I’m so late to the comments!
I love the frogs Shanna–I bet that’s a neat collection.
And yes, dragons are powerful symbols, Charlene.
Nessili–If you’re talking to her, gifts aren’t too far away
I listen to music, but it doesn’t drive my muse, just keeps it company. I have a friend who writes music and stories–she composes her own soundtracks for all her books. We listened to one as she explained the story it represented and she hit the high moments in the plot as the music climaxed behind her–I had chills listening to her.
AE-The goblet sounds like a great idea. I will have to look for one for myself.
M
No talismans here, although I do harbor a superstition about odometer readings (the better the poker hand, numbers-wise, the better my writing day).
Damon Knight wrote an interesting how-to book on SF writing. There’s plenty of silliness in it (not least of which, he picks apart one of his own mediocre stories as if it were Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, to be, ahem, instructive) but there was one pearl.
Before going to bed each evening, make a deal with your muse. “This is what I want to work on tomorrow, and this is how much time I have for writing,” you tell the muse. Then it’s her business to get it all ready for you. Knight asserts that if you keep up your end of the bargain (sit down and put in the time you promised) she’ll keep up hers (the material will be there in your head, ready to be written).
It works for me.