Finding Your Magical Writing Mojo

Last week I spent a few days in New Orleans with my mom and our guys, celebrating her birthday. This is us having lemon-drop martinis (this particular apple did NOT fall far from the tree!) at Lafitte's - one of my all-time favorite bars. In fact, my mother and I had drinks at this very bar, sitting at one of these window tables, during my trip to New Orleans for the neuroscience convention when I decided to be a writer, not a research scientist. Lo, these many years ago.

I do have my touchstones.

So, yes, I believe everyday magic, in the rituals and celebrations that both let me count my blessings and hopefully pave the way for more. Never let it be said that I'm not a superstitious person, in my way. Something that comes as a surprise to some people. I was telling my agent, Connor Goldsmith, and agency head, Laurie McLean, a story (Birdwoman) and mentioned as part of the tale that I used a pendulum to dowse for petroglyphs. Connor burst out - if you've met Connor, you'll know he has a way of bursting out - with "Good God, Jeffe, you're supposed to be a scientist!" I, naturally, leveled him an even stare and said, "Yes, and a good scientist relies on empirical evidence. I found the petroglyphs."

Heh. And then I freaked them both out with the rest of that story!

You'd think then, that I would have a natural answer to this week's topic: Writer Mojo: my lucky___ (item, coffee, etc.). The thing is, though, I don't. Not anymore. This is why.

See, back when I first set my sights on being a writer instead of a research scientist, I had no idea how to go about it. And yes, I was hugely superstitious about it, as one is when one is grasping for something, anything to hold onto. In a way, because I had no craft, no real skills to rely on, I reached for luck instead.

I think that's significant and something to keep in mind. Many writers refer to various kinds of appeals for outside help like this, whether to a muse or other sorts of divine inspiration. In some ways this reflects our sense that the stories don't come from us exactly, but stream from some other place that's not within our conscious control. I think it also reveals a lack of confidence in our ability to access that place and shape the story from there.

Because I didn't know how to make myself write, I came up with all sorts of superstitious tricks. There was this blue jersey dress I loved, but had worn too much for it to be socially acceptable anymore - stains and worn spots. I wore it to write, to cue myself for that activity. I had certain music, particular totems on my desk, a ritual of starting in to ease my way.

Those things meant everything to me - and the slightest misstep, the least bump in the magic ritual could derail me. I did this for YEARS. At least ten. Seriously. Which means that lucky, magic writing dress that had started in that job as being already too worn to wear in public, had suffered another ten-plus years of wear and tear.

It might have had holes in it.

Big ones.

And finally one day, my husband David pointed out that the holes had gotten so big as to indecently flash portions of my intimate anatomy. I replied (maybe a titch defensively) that only he saw me and what did it matter? He answered, with infinite patience, that the dress had become little more than a collection of strung-together rags and I should put the poor thing out of its misery already. With far less patience, I said this couldn't happen because it was my lucky writing dress.

I still recall the look he gave me as he said, "My dear - the writing comes from you, not from what you wear."

Huh.

It might sound silly, but it was kind of a revelation for me. I realized that he had the right of it, that I had been writing, getting my work published, winning awards and readers for quite some time by then. I had gained the skills and craft I'd lacked to begin with. Most important, I'd developed the discipline to create the foundation to allow the stories to stream in. Discipline that didn't depend on magic or muses.

So, I threw the dress away. Not without some mourning and a fair amount of grief. It marked an era of my life. I also ditched, one by one, my other writing rituals. As I eliminated each one and the stories continued to flow - even improve and lengthen - I experienced a newfound sense of freedom. It felt liberating not to need those things.

It gave me confidence, a kind of trust in what I knew how to do and what I could produce.

While some writers talk about their "muses" and how to coax them into visiting, others - like Neil Gaiman and Eudora Welty - have given great advice about doing the work. By sitting down and writing words, by putting in the time and dedicated discipline, we create the foundation for the stories to emerge. It’s not the clothes or the lucky mug or that perfect soundtrack, it’s us, developing the skills and concentration. Maybe it takes a long time to believe in that, but eventually we can set those crutches aside and trust in ourselves.

I did love that dress, though.

Rational Irrationals

It’s amusing that the definition of superstition is predicated on ‘irrational belief’. Who decides what’s rational? After all, one man’s superstition is another man’s religion. We have a world history full of one nation calling another’s religion superstition. That’s just never worked out well for anyone. Who gets to draw those distinctions?

The interesting thing is that a number of things we now consider superstition once had a basis in complete rationality. You know the thing about not whistling in the theater? For years and years, predating walkie talkies and headphones, set, curtain, and lighting cues were called on a boatswain’s whistle from backstage. Anyone whistling an innocent tune in the theater would utterly mess up an army of stage hands, who then might come hunting the whistler. Army of hacked off stage hands equals ‘unlucky’ in my definition. The spurious example? Not saying the name of "The Scottish Play" while in a production, ANY production. Yep. Saying "MacBeth" by name is supposed to utterly doom your show. If ever you're in a play, I don't recommend running up on stage and shouting MacBeth while the rest of the cast and crew are there.

Am I superstitious? I have a degree in acting, and I live on a boat. Absolutely, I harbor a few superstitions. I suspect more of us do than don’t, if only because Western culture is so steeped in the stuff. How many elevators have you been in that have a stop for the 13^th floor? Do you wish people good luck? Tell them you’re crossing your fingers for them? While I haven’t yet purposefully set out to write a superstitious character, I suspect every single one has a quirk or three just because mainstreamed superstition is the ocean I swim in.

I’m with the majority of the Word Whores. Superstitions are gold waiting to be mined for a plot. As a character device, they’re a multipurpose tool. Is a heroine throwing salt over her shoulder because that’s what grandma did and this is a touching connection with said long dead granny? Or does the heroine really believe she’s blinding the devil to her misdeeds with that salt? What if she really is blinding the devildb? There’s so much room to play with superstition in story and you can delve into all kinds of nuance about people gaming superstition to their advantage. After all, with superstition such a big part of the human condition, this stuff has hooks deep in our subconscious minds. You know marketing leverages that. What if a serial killer in a story did, too?

Are superstitions like the old Voodoo trope? It only works if you’ve invested belief in it? And then it’s a clear case of expectation front loading your perception? You expect Friday the 13^th to suck, so it does. Conversely, if you’re into Wicca, Friday the 13^th is supposedly a lucky day. Do you suddenly stop having bad Friday the 13ths because you convert? What happens in a story if a non-superstitious person, or someone from outside of a culture, follows a local superstition just to be culturally sensitive – except it works? Or appears to work?

Oh yes. This stuff is pure story gold.

Superstitions: They're Everywhere

Since we're discussing Superstitions, we have to start with Stevie Wonder getting groovy in the background:

Okay, now that that's stuck in your head for the week, let's talk superstitions' roles in books. I bet you can name five popular books that deal with superstition as a central plot point.

~crickets~

Did your mind automatically veer towards characters who have a cute little quirk like tossing salt over their shoulder, walking around a ladder, or refusing to manhandle a mirror? Maybe you're picturing that creepy woman stroking the black cat in the middle of the sidewalk filled with cracks?

That wasn't a book. That was a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Those are the stereotypes most of our western brains automatically summon when presented with the word "Superstition." We're raised to think superstitions are "irrational' or "silly." Sure, when you were five you developed a temporary case of pigeon-feet so you wouldn't break your mama's back. These days, you take note of a crack only to gauge whether it's going to snap your stiletto.

Now, compare Superstition to Faith. 

That was not a flying monkey screeching across your office. Both are categories of beliefs in Powers That Be (PTB). One is the deeply rooted belief that the PTB have a bad side. The other is the deeply rooted belief that the PTB have a good side.

Bad vs Good. Sounds like the plot of a story.

If I were to ask you again, dear readers, to name a few books where superstition is a central plot point, could you? Go ahead. Meaningless bonus points for mentions of Best Sellers from Inspirational presses.