When magic creates the ride, all the writer can do is hang on
“A bit of advice
Given to a young Native American
At the time of his initiation:
As you go the way of life,
You will see a great chasm. Jump.
It is not as wide as you think.”
― Joseph Campbell
Magic is like drugs. However, once you let it take over, you’re not lost. You are found. Logic, the more addictive drug, will become your greatest trap because, like an old bad habit, it works on you, makes you think that magic is a a delusional part of your unconscious that’s escaped into your mind like devils, makes you doubt yourself.
Whenever I run back to logic, I stop writing. I stop writing because logic tells me loud and clear that hanging on to a magic carpet as my fingers type words on the screen is no way to write a book. It’s illogical. One must plot and plan and outline the who shebang from beginning to end. Yes, that makes sense. The thing is, I don’t know the story I’m telling until I’m telling it, and then all I know is what happens next.
When logic gets a hold of me, I’m scared to write: I don’t think I can do it because I don’t know how I do it. As I mentioned in my last post, we create our own reality. So, we meditate, play around with the law of attraction, go on shamanic journeys, repeat affirmations and cast spells, but how quickly that can fade in the chilling light of day when the car won’t start or your spouse is sick or the man you hired to build a fence around part of your property hasn’t shown up for six weeks or the trees in your yard of dying for lack of rain. Where’s the magic now?
Logic breeds on itself. The more I think I need it, the more I use it, doubting myself more and more in the process. Sooner or later, I say to hell with that and jump the growing chasm of doubt. The rains come, the fence gets built, my wife gets well, and the words flow.
Some say magic gives the practitioner more control. I suppose if one thinks of magic is the wizards in the Harry Potter books hurling never-fail spells across the room, then perhaps it does. But there’s a paradox here. Exerting control is logical thinking. To live and write by magic means surrendering to the greater part of oneself and the universe and one understanding that the less one pushes, the smoother the ride.
A couple of days ago, I used the word “epitaph” in a figurative way in my work in progress. The moment I did it, I knew it wasn’t figurative at all. Magic knew where it was going before I did and logically it made so sense to go there. After resisting that idea for two days, I saw I had no choice but too get out of the way of the story in the same kinds of ways our greater selves ask us to step out of the way of the directions our lives are meant to go.
Too much logic ensures it’s going to be a bumpy ride.
When I was in the navy, I often heard the proverb “Smooth seas don’t make good sailors.” Maybe we need a few of those hard knocks of life to finally understand we’re going about it all wrong and start seriously looking for a better way.
I think I ran through every pothole the universe had to offer until I realized I was gripping the wheel as though my life and art depended on it. Early in life, we often become brainwashed into thinking we need to grip that wheel the way we do.
Whenever writer’s block looms large before me, I remind myself to let go while I write. My hope is that my readers will let go while they read.
Malcolm R. Campbell is the author of the magical realism novella “Conjure Woman’s Cat,” available in paperback, e-book and audiobook.
This post is part of the Magic Realism Blog Hop. About twenty blogs are taking part in the hop. Over three days (29th – 31st July 2016) these blogs will be posting about magic realism. Please take the time to click on the frog button for a list of other blogs in the hop. Links to the new posts will be added over the three days, so do come back to read more.