Where Does Writing Come From?

Where does writing come from? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself more often as my world has become smaller during lockdown.

Certainly, I draw a great deal of inspiration from what I see when I’m out. Furtive glances through half open front doors, snippets of passing conversation, or experiences with friends. However, these avenues of human experience have dried up over the past year and here I am still writing.

Of the writers I’ve spoken to, it seems a mixed bag. Either they’ve seen greater periods of productivity or inactivity. The Muse is a fickle beast at the best of times, but it seems she’s only become more so during lockdown, visitations growing sparser and sparser. I found the first six months of the ordeal she was completely absent. That’s about the time I took up knitting again.

I’ll admit I spent some time sifting through quotes of authors that inspire me, hoping they might encapsulate my thoughts better than I could (it’s a little shameful as a writer to say this). And I think Neil Gaiman struck upon it best:

My upcoming book, and indeed the sequel, which I’ve begun to write, were born of nothing more than insomniac daydreams. They came from thoughts and images that stayed with me, demanding, not just my attention, but my action. I had to draw them out of nothingness and set into words these things that made themselves significant in my mind. Perhaps the only part of Gaiman’s quote that I would disagree with is that, we don’t notice when we’re doing it, but we notice when it happens to us.

An embarrassing but, in this case, necessary anecdote is how the inception of my main character Mallory came about. In many ways, she originated as an imaginary friend from my childhood, a foil to myself. While she lives in a supernatural world, I have the misfortune of sharing some of her childhood experiences. These were moments in my life that were impossible to leave behind, and I’ve carried them with me all my life. I’d like to think by passing them on to her, much as a parent to a child, I’ve lain some of that burden to rest. But, then, given I’m penning a sequel, perhaps not.

What made Mallory stand out from the thousand other images I’ve conjured in the hours between going to bed and falling asleep was her persistence in my mind. It isn’t enough for the Muse to flag our attention, distractible creatures that we are. No, the Muse has to sit around and mature, be imbued with more than just an idea but emotions as well. By the time I set about writing the character Mallory, I had had years to get to know her and saturate her with an emotional life as full as my own, perhaps because it was partly my own. I’m not saying the process will take that long for everyone, but a novel is an undertaking and needs time to be mulled over.

I agree with Gaiman that the starting point for writers is to be a daydreamer. When walking the dog, lying awake in bed, or pretending to be focused at work, we tune into images that flicker on and off in our heads. Rather than clearing my mind before bed, I let in everything that was waiting, perhaps not so patiently, while I cooked or cleaned. This may be why writers make such good insomniacs. When a story is ready to be told, it demands telling, no matter the hour or the place.