Writing a story is like casting a spell. An actual enchantment that brings a world full of characters to life. If an author is honest they'll admit this. Even the most fastidious plotter will find the story changes as they write. I suspect this magic is one reason why authors are so reticent to share the early stages of writing. But this leaves neophyte writers without any understanding of how messy and amorphous the first stage of noveling really is. Sure, we hear about an image from a dream. But how does that seed become a story? What is the metamorphic goo before the butterfly emerges? New writers are cautioned that sharing this secret will break the spell. That the muse will run off with another artist if you dare to look them in the eye. And perhaps there is a legitimate fear of being found a fraud. If what emerges is half happenstance half horse manure, what claim to the story do you even have? As I wander deeper into the dark and enchanted forest I find that storytelling is more an art of intuition than intellect. Perhaps better left to mystery. But here I stand, hag stone held to my eye, reporting the from the dark wood of the unconscious. I wonder what we might find.

Cross Pollinate 🐝