The Characters Know Before I Do

“Who did you write this about?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“What does this line mean?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“Well what’s your process?”

“I don’t know,” I answer.

I’ve tried to offer poised, digestible explanations before. You know, the kind that would make a great bumper sticker or podcast clip. I feared the world would discover I have no idea what I’m doing, and I didn’t wish to run the risk of sounding like a mythical, gate keeping jackass.

Still, that’s the truth of it:

I don’t know.

Here’s how much I really didn’t know.

Ideas rarely come at romantic times. I’ve lit candles, put on lipstick to seduce the muse and said my prayers. But somehow, a plot comes through on the way to the farmer’s market—when I’m driving past a sculpture of a flying pig.

It’s a love story between Destiny and Fate. (I won’t say more because I will in fact write it).

I thought the idea was brand new to me. But a year later, I’m in my kitchen, scrubbing a mug while I listened to the Legends of Lemuria audiobook—the fantasy novel I wrote six years ago—to double check pronunciations.

I get to the final chapter.

“Destiny and Fate are married. One is always willing to die for the other. If you create your own destiny, you can escape your fate. Follow your fate, and your destiny will change. They are like two rivers running toward the same sea of eternity. It is your choice, what to do with your time.”

I drop the mug.

It shatters on the floor.

Six years ago, writing that book, I unwittingly left myself a message. A future plot. A seed I wouldn’t recognize until I grew into the writer who could.

It reminds me in an interview with David Whyte, when they asked him, “How do you know you’re on the right path?” And he replied, “You can’t see it.”

I couldn’t see it.

But the invisible thread was yanked on for me to later weave, when my hands were a little more practiced. Stories, much like life, simply want to express themselves through us. And the work often knows before we do.

Being an artist is like walking blindfolded through the world—never seeing the entirety of what’s shaping you, only trusting that each sharp edge is carving something true.

On another note, I’ve recently launched a modern day dead poet’s society called Pen 2 Publish—a community of writers who share their manuscripts and poetry for peer review. You’ll also find modules that guide you step by step on how to write, publish and market your book (with and without social media, because we’re all burnt out on algorithms). If you’re interested, find us here.

Xx,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Scribe