“Please get out of the habit of saying that you’ve got an idea for a short story. Art does not come from ideas. Art does not come from the mind. Art comes from the place where you dream. Art comes from your unconscious; it comes from the white hot center of you.”
The concept of this book is that storytelling comes from your unconscious and not your logical mind. This tracks with the writing process of Ray Bradbury, Dorothea Brande, even Terry Pratchett. It also maps onto the concepts of “day brain” vs. “night brain” writing explored on the podcast Writing Excuses.
But the farther I read into this book the more rigid and didactic Butler’s approach seemed. He needlessly used plot examples requiring a content warning.
I can’t say I wholeheartedly recommend this book, but I do find this concept of taking space to “dream” a story before you write it both liberating and extremely challenging. After setting an intention for more reverie in 2025 I have instead completely rebuilt my website and migrated my newsletter. 🤷
But my best fiction has come from that place of the unconcious. So this is a technique I want to explore.
If you do read this book, take it with a grain of salt. Artists often sound as if their way is the only way because it is the way that works for them.
With those caveats here are some passages I found interesting.
“Voice is the embodiment in language of the contents of your unconscious.”
Most artists spend a lot of time and energy trying to find / discover / hone their artistic voice or style. Whereas this suggests that leaning away from analysis and toward the unconscious may bring you closer to your true voice.
“What you forget goes into the compost of the imagination… in a compost heap, things decompose. Your past is full of stories that have been composed in a certain way; that’s what memories are. But only when they decompose are you able to recompose them into new works of art.”
Love a creative compost metaphor of course. He is paraphrasing British novelist Graham Greene here.
“The organic nature of art is such that within the process everything must be utterly malleable, utterly fluent, so that everything ultimately can be brought together; and if there’s anything in there that will not yield, is not open to change, you cannot create the object.”
This is something I’m finding in my own process. I come in with a concept for a story, but the more closely I hold myself within those bounds the worse the writing is. This past year my writing started to enter this dreamspace for the first time. I found the story was moving like shifting tetonic plates.
“Rewriting is redreaming.”
I think the most radical idea in this book is that even editing (normally considered an analytical process) can come from the unconscious.
And should in Butler’s opinion.
As a literature professor he has all the tools for analysis, but claims not to consciously use them. He rereads his books looking for “twangs” and redreams them until it all “thrums.” Even his rewriting process coming from the unconscious.
“The compost heap of the novelist, the repository that exists apart from literal memory, apart from the conscious mind, is mostly made up of direct, sensual life experience.”
More creative compost. Butler has an obsession with sensory details and decries all explanatory words (for emotions, etc.) and here is where you can fall into the trap of taking on his style for your own. Centering on sensory details can certainly make a text richer, but to use them exclusively feels extreme.
It’s a stylistic choice not “good” or “bad” writing as he frames it.
“[Fiction and technique] must first be forgotten…before they can be authentically engaged in the creation of a work of art.”
He’s basically explaining here that all of that analysis (of stories and literature and writing technique) goes in the compost heap and he doesn’t trust it until it’s filtered through dreamspace.
“Desire is the driving force behind plot.”
I think this comes to the heart of his dreamspace technique. Rather than plotting a work analytically (something I am apparently allergic to) he let’s the objective of a character drive the action. This prevents the awkward situation where a character simply does something because the plot requires it.
It’s a bit chicken and the egg.
I don’t think one way is right or wrong. But when you’re done your character had darn well better have a drive for what they are doing. But doesn’t it sound more fun to let character drive your writing rather than the other way around.
“Writers who aspire to a different kind of fiction— entertainment fiction, let’s call it, genre fiction—have never forgotten this necessity of the character’s yearning.”
He is a straight up literary snob here. 🙄
But it’s worth mentioning because this chapter reminded me of musical theatre structure.
Something strongly present in my personal compost heap.
There’s always an “I want” song in Act I.
“[The artist] doesn’t know what she knows about the world until she creates the object… the writing of a work of art is as much an act of exploration as it is expression, an exploration of images, of moment-to-moment sensual experience.”
I think a lot of writers sit down to “write a book” not to “discover a story.”
For all of my criticisms of this book I do think I’ve added some rich humus (with a pile of horse 💩) to my compost heap.
That said, I hesitate to give Butler too much credit. The reason I bought his book was that I was already curious about a more intuitive approach based on Ray Bradbury’s Zen and the Art of Writing.
I gave up marking quotes because I wanted to quote every other line. And ended up too intimidated to write about it at all. Which now feels silly because I’m writing about this book that is a dim reflection of it.
Bradbury very much wrote from this dreamspace and drawing images and characters from his unconcious. I just need to find the fortitude to do it justice when writing about it.
I’m currently in deep ideation and research mode for a fantasy novel. The working title is Mawd for one of the characters (named after Lucy Maud Montgomery – author of Anne of Green Gables.)
Here’s a timelapse of the mood board I’m creating.
You can browse the virtual mood board and see image sources on are.na.
This book is half writing craft / half memoir. Here are some of his gem’s about writing.
First, one of the graphs that inspired me to buy the book. I am fascinated how he thinks so visually about his structural process.
(The book was second hand and dog eared when I bought it.)
Notes on Structure
Almost always there is considerable tension between chronology and theme, and chronology traditionally wins.
McPhee is talking about non fiction here, but this is doubly true for novels.
Readers are not supposed to notice the structure. It is meant to be about as visible as someone’s bones.
a basic criterion for all structures: they should not be imposed upon the material. They should arise from within it.
This is a very actionable step.
Often, after you have reviewed your notes many times and thought through your material, it is difficult to frame much of a structure until you write a lead. You wade around in your notes, getting nowhere. You don’t see a pattern. You don’t know what to do. So stop everything. Stop looking at the notes. Hunt through your mind for a good beginning. Then write it. Write a lead.
I would go so far as to suggest that you should always write your lead (redoing it and polishing it until you are satisfied that it will serve) before you go at the big pile of raw material and sort it into a structure.
I wonder if writing a novel that is underpinned with research and note making could move forward similarly to the process of writing non fiction. I’m curious about this as I am someone who is more comfortable writing non fiction and trying to find my feet with novels.
The lead—like the title—should be a flashlight that shines down into the story. A lead is a promise. It promises that the piece of writing is going to be like this. If it is not going to be so, don’t use the lead.
More stunning imagery. I love the idea of the lead as a flashlight shining down through a story.
Another way to prime the pump is to write by hand… get away from the computer, lie down somewhere with pencil and pad, and think it over. This can do wonders at any point in a piece and is especially helpful when you have written nothing at all. Sooner or later something comes to you. Without getting up, you roll over and scribble on the pad. Go on scribbling as long as the words develop. Then get up and copy what you have written into your computer file.
Another actionable tip. And yet acknowledging what works for him is not universal:
Alternating between handwriting and computer typing almost always moves me along, but that doesn’t mean it will work for you.
Finding Your Style
Young writers find out what kinds of writers they are by experiment.
If they choose from the outset to practice exclusively a form of writing because it is praised in the classroom or otherwise carries appealing prestige, they are vastly increasing the risk inherent in taking up writing in the first place. It is so easy to misjudge yourself and get stuck in the wrong genre.
You avoid that, early on, by writing in every genre. If you are telling yourself you’re a poet, write poems. Write a lot of poems. If fewer than one work out, throw them all away; you’re not a poet. Maybe you’re a novelist. You won’t know until you have written several novels.
This is so interesting. Particularly the bit about getting stuck writing in a way that was praised in school.
Young writers generally need a long while to assess their own variety, to learn what kinds of writers they most suitably and effectively are…
“Though a man be more prone and able for one kind of writing than another, yet he must exercise all.” Ben Jonson
One of my favorite quotes in the book.
No one will ever write in just the way that you do, or in just the way that anyone else does. Because of this fact, there is no real competition between writers. What appears to be competition is actually nothing more than jealousy and gossip. Writing is a matter strictly of developing oneself. You compete only with yourself. You develop yourself by writing. An editor’s goal is to help writers make the most of the patterns that are unique about them.
On omission and selection,
Writing is selection.
… You select what goes in and you decide what stays out. At base you have only one criterion: If something interests you, it goes in—if not, it stays out.
… Forget market research. Never market-research your writing. Write on subjects in which you have enough interest on your own to see you through all the stops, starts, hesitations, and other impediments along the way. Ideally, a piece of writing should grow to whatever length is sustained by its selected material—that much and no more.
Drafting
McPhee on the difference between drafts and a ratio of how long each draft takes that he observed in his own writing over time.
First drafts are slow and develop clumsily because every sentence affects not only those before it but also those that follow. The first draft of my book on California geology took two gloomy years; the second, third, and fourth drafts took about six months altogether. That four-to-one ratio in writing time—first draft versus the other drafts combined—has for me been consistent in projects of any length, even if the first draft takes only a few days or weeks. There are psychological differences from phase to phase, and the first is the phase of the pit and the pendulum. After that, it seems as if a different person is taking over. Dread largely disappears. Problems become less threatening, more interesting. Experience is more helpful, as if an amateur is being replaced by a professional. Days go by quickly and not a few could be called pleasant, I’ll admit.
I’m intrigued to see him using the same metaphor as Neil Gaiman [[Throwing Mud at the Wall]]. I wonder who said it first and if one is referencing the other or if it arose naturally because it is so fitting to the task at hand.
The way to do a piece of writing is three or four times over, never once. For me, the hardest part comes first, getting something—anything—out in front of me. Sometimes in a nervous frenzy I just fling words as if I were flinging mud at a wall.
And in a letter to his daughter (writer Jenny McPhee),
You finish that first awful blurting, and then you put the thing aside. You get in your car and drive home. On the way, your mind is still knitting at the words. You think of a better way to say something, a good phrase to correct a certain problem. Without the drafted version—if it did not exist—you obviously would not be thinking of things that would improve it. In short, you may be actually writing only two or three hours a day, but your mind, in one way or another, is working on it twenty-four hours a day—yes, while you sleep—but only if some sort of draft or earlier version already exists.
In another letter to Jenny,
Dear Jenny: What am I working on? How is it going? Since you asked, at this point I have no confidence in this piece of writing. It tries a number of things I probably shouldn’t be trying. It tries to use the present tense for the immediacy that the present tense develops, but without allowing any verb tense to become befouled in a double orientation of time. It tells its story inside out. Like the ship I’m writing about, it may have a crack in its hull. And I’ve barely started. After four months and nine days of staring into this monitor for what has probably amounted in aggregate to something closely approaching a thousand hours, that’s enough. I’m going fishing.”
Fiction
Art is where you find it. Good writing is where you find it. Fiction, in my view, is much harder to do than fact, because the fiction writer moves forward by trial and error, while the fact writer is working with a certain body of collected material, and can set up a structure beforehand.
“Fiction must stick to facts, and the truer the facts the better the fiction—so we are told.” Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own.
Editing
An editing tip he uses himself and taught his students at Stanford,
You draw a box not only around any word that does not seem quite right but also around words that fulfill their assignment but seem to present an opportunity.
While the word inside the box may be perfectly O.K., there is likely to be an even better word for this situation, a word right smack on the button, and why don’t you try to find such a word? If none occurs, don’t linger; keep reading and drawing boxes, and later revisit them one by one. If there’s a box around “sensitive” because it seems pretentious in the context, try “susceptible.” Why “susceptible”? Because you looked up “sensitive” in the dictionary and it said “highly susceptible.” With dictionaries, I spend a great deal more time looking up words I know than words I have never heard of—at least ninety-nine to one. The dictionary definitions of words you are trying to replace are far more likely to help you out than a scattershot wad from a thesaurus.
On knowing when he is done,
When am I done? I just know. I’m lucky that way. What I know is that I can’t do any better; someone else might do better, but that’s all I can do; so I call it done.
William Shawn, McPhee’s Editor at The New Yorker when asked how he has so much time to work with each writer on the smallest details,
“It takes as long as it takes.”
McPhee’s advice on maintaining your voice when working with editors,
There are people who superimpose their own patterns on the work of writers and seem to think it is their role to force things in the direction they would have gone in if they had been doing the writing. Such people are called editors, and are not editors but rewriters.
My advice is, never stop battling for the survival of your own unique stamp. An editor can contribute a lot to your thoughts but the piece is yours—and ought to be yours—if it is under your name.
And then on how invaluable editors can be,
Editors are counselors and can do a good deal more for writers in the first-draft stage than at the end of the publishing process.
The help is spoken and informal, and includes insight, encouragement, and reassurance with regard to a current project.
Confidence and Imposter Syndrome
If you lack confidence in setting one word after another and sense that you are stuck in a place from which you will never be set free, if you feel sure that you will never make it and were not cut out to do this, if your prose seems stillborn and you completely lack confidence, you must be a writer.
And unless you can identify what is not succeeding—unless you can see those dark clunky spots that are giving you such a low opinion of your prose as it develops—how are you going to be able to tone it up and make it work?
This is encouraging because this is the same reframe I used when returning to fiction writing after giving it up. If I see the problems I can work on fixing them.
Notes on Technology
Howard thought the computer should be adapted to the individual and not the other way around. One size fits one.
Howard was a computer programmer who helped McPhee customize the software he used.
It was Christmas Day and I was sitting at the kitchen anxiously trying to finish a weaving to submit to an exhibition about motherhood.
Here’s a video showing the weaving process. I made data weavings recording each time I was interrupted by tying a knot.
I barely finished and photographed that work in time for the deadline. Looking back that first weaving (smaller and less textured than the one in this video) wasn’t a strong piece and I’m not surprised it was rejected.
But the rejection stung because I was also told off for being unprofessional by photographing my work on a wall that wasn’t white. I felt like the art world was a secret club I didn’t have the passcode for. *
The next year I submitted another weaving to another show. No snooty response, but it still didn’t connect.
One submission a year clearly wasn’t working for me.
So my 100 Submissions project was born.
This was an energetic shift from holding each submission so closely to casting a wider net.
I managed 11 submissions last year and the strangest thing happened…
There’s some bit of luck in submitting the right piece at the right time.
But I think the real magic was putting myself out there without worrying if I had a “chance.”
This led to…
– exhibiting my art for the first time
– speaking at my first author event
– my first publication in an academic journal
That’s a lot of firsts!
I’m going to share this process – not to brag – but to encourage you to put your own work out into the world.
I meant to share this process in real time, but I quickly became overwhelmed at the amount of admin work involved (emails, mailing art, etc.) and I couldn’t keep up with writing Substack posts too.
Here goes!
I kept track of everything in Notion. If you have the bandwidth I found this really useful because you can resuse / adapt submission materials instead of starting from scratch each time. This way you can build up some momentum.
Submission #1 – NWA Book Fest
Venue: NW Arkansas Book Festival
Cost to Submit: None
The first acceptance I had was to do a book reading and signing at a local book festival (NWA Book Fest). It was a great learning experience which I wrote about here.
Takeaway: Author events are a massive energetic drain.
What I learned was I simply I don’t have capacity for book festivals at this time. This was a very short appearance and it took me quite a long time to recover. So paying to be a vendor for a full day (or weekend) event would definitely push me past capacity.
Here’s a clip of actual footage of me after the event. †
“Success” isn’t worth it if it pushes you into burnout.
Submission #2 – Carve Out Time for Art
Venue: Instagram
Cost to Submit: $25
I considered this application to be a complete shot in the dark.
I was stunned at the invitation to takeover Carve Out Time for Art on Instagram. This one gave me big imposter syndrome, but was actually a delight. This was one of the first acceptance emails that came in, but the takeover itself didn’t happen until much later in the year.
Before I did this takeover I pretty much thought “everyone who wants my book already has it so I should stop talking about it.” It’s easy to fall into this trap when growth is slow or nonexistent. Reaching people beyond my normal subscribers brought a breath of fresh air. I made some new friends who followed me here! *waves* And sold a couple copies of my book. Not loads, but it broadened my horizons.
Submission #3 – Stay Home Gallery
Venue: Art Gallery (Paris, TN)
Cost to Submit: $10
Next, my textile piece Maternal Mental Health was accepted to an art exhibition about paradox in caregiving. Here’s a statement from the curator Tara Carpenter Estrada,
“In Together/Alone, the paradox of emotions between “never alone” and “very lonely” felt by caregivers is given the spotlight. The societal devaluing of care-work places the responsibilities of care (and self-care) on individuals. Without structural support, a tension can arise between love and devotion, and resentment or anxiety— the need for alone time, and the need for togetherness.”
Takeaway: Try to align your expectations with reality.
Because this was my first time exhibiting art outside university I really wanted to travel to the gallery opening. The whole situation was confusing because it was a hybrid show. On one hand it was a physical exhibition at an artist retreat – so I had to mail my work. But the main exhibition was on the Stay Home Gallery website. The physical location was not open to the public and was only seen by the artist residents. So there was no opportunity to visit and see the work in person. I was a bit heartbroken, to be honest, because my expectations weren’t aligned with reality. But it was my first tiny baby step into the fine art world.
The next thing I knew I was being published in an academic journal. My piece, The Benefits of Asynchronous Friendship, exploring my collaborative project with
I have a lot to say about this one that should probably live behind a paywall, but I found this process very challenging. I’m an academic – my day job is teaching university theatre courses – but I’m a theatre instructor. (Not an autism researcher.) And I’ve never written for an academic journal before.
Takeaway: Academic writing = time consuming revision.
The challenge came from writing a piece that was “too academic” to be creative and “too creative” to be academic. The editor didn’t quite know what to do with me. They literally said, “it is neither beast nor fowl.” 😂
In the end, we decided to treat it as a creative piece, meaning I had to strip out the research I’d done and root the writing in my lived experience. It was a stronger piece afterward, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. Trying to edit this piece whilst also running a crowdfunder almost killed me.
If I submit in the future it will be a visual artwork which wouldn’t require revision.
Cut, Torn & Mended was an open call for members of Spilt Milk Gallery including a virtual exhibition and printed zine. I submitted my bricolage, The Mental Load, which I created as a self regulation process after publishing my first book.
The Mental Load / 2023 / broken toys, detritus of motherhood / 28” x 25” x 8”
Takeaway: Virtual exhibitions are perfect for large or heavy works that are hard to mail.
There’s no way I could afford to ship this piece due to it’s size and fragility so a virtual exhibit & zine was a perfect fit.
View the virtual exhibition or purchase a copy of the Cut, Torn & Mended zine here.
Anthropology of Motherhood Culture of Care was curated by Amy Bowman-McElhone, PhD and has traveled from Pittsburgh Three Rivers Art Festival to Dyer Art Center at National Institute for the Deaf.
This is also the only exhibition I participated in that had funding to pay the artists.
The work that was originally submitted was my 360 VR piece From Where I Stand. Once we started talking about the logistics of the VR headset the curators asked to show My Brain on Motherhood instead. It felt like a double acceptance because they considered both works worthy of exhibition.
I also learned that this work was not the physical object itself, but the video. This makes sense in retrospect, but wasn’t obvious to me until they asked to exhibit the video. I changed the details in my portfolio to list this as a video piece.
Takeaway: Video works are low cost. They don’t require framing or postage and are always “ready to hang” if a screen is available.
I have a few other video WIPs I need to finish up and get into my portfolio. I’m also keeping an old iPad to display works as needed.
Every submission was aired, but for me this submission was about putting myself out there and doing something for myself outside of my “professional” portfolio.
If you’re new around here I’m passionately dedicated to the Wheel of Time and have recently reconnected to the community. Last April I submitted a WoT Idol parody video turning Wheel of Time characters into Sesame Street style puppets. I wrote about the experience here:
Do you hear us… are you listening? was “curated through an open submission to members, without a defined theme, nor a selection process. All members were invited to have their work included. The process of removing the selection committee allowed for a more democratic way of exhibiting our artists’ works, free of judgement or censoring and for all voices to be heard with equal importance.”
For this exhibition, members were invited to submit two works, and I submitted Meltdown and Meltdown Prevention. It felt like a nice opportunity to exhibit these works together and both were included.
If you’d like to see this exhibition it is archived here.
Takeaway: Exhibitions and open calls can come in many forms.
The way Spilt Milk Gallery includes both curated and member exhibitions is a big inspiration in how I’ve decided to structureNeurokind.
Submission #9 – Euphoria Quilt Project
Venue: Instagram
Cost to Submit: FREE
When I saw this project by
Euphoria Quilt Project I knew I wanted to submit a block, but I didn’t know if I had time to make one. Eventually I realized I could utilize the crazy quilting skills I’d developed while making my gleeman’s cloak and I made a quilt square from textured scraps.
This piece will be included in a quilt representing gender expansive joy organized by Eliot Anderberg. You can see some of the squares that have been submitted over on Instagram.
I wrote the following about my square, “Embracing into my neuroqueer and nonbinary gender identity means leaning into the fact that I may appear eccentric. I explored that in this project by using the “wrong” side of several fabrics and improvising a “crazy quilted” design. Gender expression is also tied up in sensory experience for me so I also included some soft stimmy textures.”
If you’re new here and didn’t know I was nonbinary maybe give this a read…
Submission #10 – HNDL Magazine
Venue: Instagram
Cost to Submit: FREE
HNDL stands for Highlighted Neurodivergent & Disabled Life and is a “magazine featuring the work of creatives who identify as neurodivergent, disabled &/or chronically ill”. Give them a follow over on Instagram.
After such a wild run of acceptance I was sure that this one was going to be my first rejection of the year. You’ll notice this is the second work I submitted to a queer space. I’m a baby queer – only openly identifying as nonbinary, ace, and neuroqueer as of last year. So I felt some imposter syndrome stepping into these communitites, but I’ve been embraced into these spaces with open arms.
There’s something about exhibiting in NYC that feels like a right of passage. Even when I was packing up my work to mail it didn’t feel real. Luckily I had some friends who visited the exhibit on my behalf and documented that it was. (Thanks to everyone who sent me photographs and videos. You can see my work in situ here.)
“Through sculpture, the 13 exhibiting artists make objects that stand outside of normative interpretations of usefulness and conventionality, thereby expanding our worldview and possibilities for engagement. If queerness is an act of making things strange (or challenging norms), strangeness identifies potential points of rupture within social conditioning.”
Takeaway: Submit the maximum amount of works possible (if you can.)
I actually created a new piece specifically for this call, but when I saw that there was the opportunity to submit 3 works I also included Meltdown and Unravel. It’s always nice to give the curator choices.
Some people have asked how I know about opens calls.
The truth is by serendipity.
Over the years I’ve connected with a variety of artists with similar overlapping interests. Many of them generously share opportunities (often on Instagram stories) which spark my interest.
Huge shoutout to these lovelies who often share art exhibitions and residencies:
And Tamzen Bryantwho shared the local book festival.
I’ve also really loved being a member of Spilt Milk Gallery who hosted 2 of these exhibits.
I hope I’ve demystified the process and inspired you to submit your work.
I wish you the best in making work and putting it out into the world. The next one I’m working on is a piece about roots for Motherlore Magazine. And if you’re neurodivergent I’d love to see your work submitted to Neurokind.
It’s not scary. We’re all people making things happen.
Cheers,
P.S. I’m rubbish at marketing, and this has been on my “to do” list for over a year. But I finally made a new footer to remind people I wrote a book / have courses / love comments. 🥰
I’m a Renaissance Soul so I always have lots of irons in the fire. Here are just a few of the ways that we can connect. (Psst… comments and shares are my favorite. And they’re free!)
* We don’t have white walls in our house so I purchased a large sheet of white hardboard from the hardware store. There is a small hole drilled that lines up with a nail in Davy’s nursery where I often hang works to photograph them. I also have a smaller board I can set up on an easel and photograph in the backyard. Light is almost always the problem so I tend to use a tripod for portfolio photos even though I hate them. I also have a small white IKEA table I use to photograph 3D works. Here’s a peek at my set up. It’s a relatively inexpensive solution. If your work is small and lightweight you could probably get away with a piece of foamcore and a pin stuck in, but my larger works have needed a nail to hang from.
† (That’s Odo from Star Trek Deep Space Nine.) It took a lot out of me.
“The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.”
Last week I went on a creative pilgrimage to Charleston, South Carolina.
I visited a library.
I saw a tree.
I met up with my “book club.” *
That’s the easy to digest version.
The facts, if you will.
But this trip was not about facts. It was about metaphysics.
For the uninitiated, metaphysics is:
“the branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles of things, including abstract concepts such as being, knowing, substance, cause, identity, time, and space.”2
This journey was about all of these things in a really intricate and profound way.
But first, let’s take a step back into the late 90s.
Observe Sarah, who has fallen asleep on the bed with a dictionary. Again. To the side of the bed is a stack of large thick blue books and several notebooks. If you thumbed through the notebooks you’d find clumsily written facts and lists of names.
Or carefully calligraphed prophecies.
At this point in my life I had no concept of neurodivergence or autism. But I had fallen for the deepest special interest of my life. When I wasn’t doing schoolwork or working I was thinking about these books.
The Wheel of Time.
I’ve written about this before, but it’s almost impossible to get across how important these books are to me or why. Here’s where metaphysics comes in.
There’s something about connecting with someone’s art that goes beyond the physical plane. Beyond logic.
It would be easy to say I love the characters, the genre, the use of language. That I’m drawn in by the depth of world building, the complexity of the magic system, and the sheer scope of the books. All of these things are true.3
Yet, I don’t think these are why I connect so deeply to this story.
It’s more ephemeral than that.
More metaphysical.
There’s something in me that feels seen by these books.
A sense of belonging and knowing that runs deeper than thought processes. A recognition at the soul level.4
The same feeling as when you meet a friend who just “gets it.” When the things that felt weird and unknowable about you become points of connection.
“You too? I thought it was just me.”
But it’s not just about similarities. Differences form this bond as well. And they expand your worldview. You begin to see the world through the eyes of your friend.
That is how I feel about these books. They see me and they also stretch me.
These characters were my peers. The fact that they weren’t real didn’t make their influence any less impactful.
I read these books at the height of my social anxiety. And I took away important lessons from the Aes Sedai. I saw their confidence and how they carried themselves in the world. I learned that perception can be more powerful than reality. And the that the truth you hear isn’t always the truth you think you hear.
I also saw teenagers leave their village and reshape the world. Everything felt possible.
When I finished the series I put the books on a shelf and didn’t touch them for a decade. (I talked about this a bit in my podcast chat with Morgan Harper Nichols.)
I didn’t realize at the time that my interests are a tool for self regulation and a lens I use to process the world. I had no idea what function they had in my life until they were no longer there.
In 2020 I hit rock bottom.
I couldn’t cope.
Then I started re-reading The Wheel of Time.
I’d forgotten how these books made me feel. I knew I loved them. But I also enjoy other stories and books that don’t have the same resonance. These stories are different.
They are etched into my bones.
When I re-read the Wheel of Time I’m always surprised at the curious mix of what I’ve retained – the details I know as if I lived them. And what became hazy over time.
There’s always something new to notice.
And in a story of 4.4 million words and 2787 distinct named characters I suppose there would be.5
Sometime after that re-read I also reconnected to the Wheel of Time community. I was surprised and delighted to find there were other nerds who still loved these stories as much as I do.
It felt like rediscovering part of myself that I’d forgotten existed. My joy at listening to livestreams on The Dusty Wheel was palpable.. an embodied sense of belonging. “These are my people.”
The more time I spend in this community the more incredible I realize it is.
There’s a generosity in spirit and a value in creative joy that I haven’t seen in other corners of the internet. The more I watched these people nerding out the more I knew I needed to make time and space for this in my own life.
This January I wrote down “Wheel of Time convention” and “Pilgrimage to Robert Jordan’s Notes” as long term goals. It felt impossible at the time, but also important. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine both would happen this year.
Intention invites opportunity.
After winning a ticket to WoT Con this summer one thing led to another and I signed up for Ogier Con – a small gathering of fans who were planning to make the pilgrimage to Charleston…together.
Instead of traveling alone I was destined to go there in community.
The wheel weaves as the wheel wills.
When I made it to the library I found myself reading Wheel of Time manuscripts with Matt Hatch, Tamrylin of Theoryland, Innkeeper of The Dusty Wheel.
In that moment, time collapsed in on itself. I existed in four timelines simultaneously:
the moment I learned these notes existed
thinking this trip was impossible
writing the intention
holding RJ’s notes in my own hand
Over time other hard core fan freaks joined us at the table. We’d each come with a different purpose.
My purpose was to study Robert Jordan’s creative process.
My curiosity about RJ’s writing process doesn’t come from a desire to replicate it. I could no more write in his particular style than you could teach a bird to swim.
But I’m learning that his process was messier and more intuitive than what I had come to accept as “the right way.” It’s given me inspiration to toss out the rule book and develop a writing process that works for me.
There’s something about the Wheel of Time that reverberates with the storyteller inside me.
It shakes my inner writer awake. I wondered if I’d feel that reading his notes. And I did. The more I learn about Robert Jordan’s writing process the more I see pieces of myself.
Don’t get me wrong. We’re wildly different people. But there are mundane similarities.
Looking at his notes I found lists. Facts, idioms, and so much research. He filled notebooks with information about plants and herbal remedies. Historical and mythological figures.
Other notebooks had a single list and the rest was empty.
(I vow never to feel guilty about abandoning notebooks again.) 😂
These were just the kind of notes I used to keep as a teenager. I had one small green notebook that was a collection of names – especially for writing.
I also have an obsession with collecting what I call colloquialisms. An interest originally sparked by their use in Robert Jordan’s writing, and expanded during my time living abroad.
For example, I love the contrast between
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mac truck.” (Mississippi)
and
“I feel like I’ve been pulled through a bush backwards.” (Ireland)
It’s even better with accents, trust me.
I looked up some of the phrases RJ had collected and determined they were from films. I can only imagine that he then studied those to work out how to create his own. He was an expert at this and it made his world feel rich and lived in. For example, a character who grew up in a fishing village says,
“You bore a hole in the boat and worry that it’s raining.”6
I love seeing evidence that Robert Jordan had similar drive to collect information.
There was a conspicuous lack of outlines.
Instead there were plenty of notes in a style that RJ called “rambling.”
These ramble files read almost like freewriting about the story. He seemed to craft his plot on the page. Not in an outline.
The first ramble file I read opened with a few paragraphs about Emonds Field – the houses, the economic structure, the village’s contact with the outside world (peddlers, grain traders, and gleemen.) Then he starts working through details. I love the bits where he asks himself questions or sets down two different options to consider.
Many of Jordan’s early ideas are very different to what happens in the books while others remain unchanged.
I think my writing process could do with a bit more rambling on paper.
I already use freewriting to process experiences in life. So it feels like a natural fit to weave that into my storytelling.
I stayed in the library until a librarian came up quietly and asked, “Did you know we close at 4?” It was 4. I thanked her and packed up. I paused to look at the display outside the library. RJ’s old desktop computer was there with a sticker,
“Any sufficiently advanced technology will be indistinguishable from magic.”
I started a 15 minute walk to the Air B&B my rolling suitcases in tow. Along the way I serendipitously came across Ogier street. The Ogier are a forest dwelling people in the Wheel of Time who have a penchant for long winded stories and info dumps. (Sound familiar?)
I took a photo.
The rest of the weekend was an exploration of Charleston and the places that inspired the books.
We visited the Angel Oak, known affectionately by the fandom as Avendesora, the Wheel of Time’s version of the Tree of Life. I’ve seen live oaks before, but the scale of this one was otherworldly. It’s impossible to convey the sense of scale with a photograph.
The next day we walked the gardens of Harriet McDougal’s home (Robert Jordan’s widow and editor). We were given a tour by Maria Simons (Head of the Brown Ajah). Every time I thought we’d seen it all we would turn a corner or step into a passageway and discover more. A true secret garden.
I took photos of flowers to plant in my own garden next year (including these tithonia which the butterflies loved… I even spotted a monarch.)
He talked about his own creative process and showed us around The Citadel – the military college where RJ drew inspiration for The White Tower. There was also an impromptu book signing at Robert Jordan’s desk, which is now his. Michael signed a copy of his fiction book Shards of Heaven for me, which I look forward to reading. It is a historical fantasy novel set in Ancient Rome.
I’m still processing everything I was able to see.
Most of it didn’t seem real. Kind of like seeing Big Ben for the first time.
And between every surreal moment was soul to soul connection.
The intimate size and setting of the gathering made space for expansive and meaningful conversation.
It was like a bubble of peace that existed outside of time and space.
I’m in proper long winded Ogier mode today, but I’ll try to wrap things up.
Circling back to my creative process:
I’ll never be Robert Jordan.
No one will.
But I can be Sarah Shotts.
I can tell the stories that are important to me in the ways and timelines that are right for me. My goal isn’t capitalistic success, but creative expression. To make something that’s true to me and share it with others who may find bits of themselves in it.
I’ll always have multiple projects. But I’m learning how to them weave them together. One project bubbling away in the slow cooker. One on the stovetop. And another fermenting in a dark cupboard.11
That cupboard is where my fiction writing has been. It’s time to wake up that sourdough starter and start proving some bread.
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Let’s discuss.
Do you have any projects in the fermentation cupboard you’re ready to pull out?
Have you ever had a creative pilgrimage? Where did you go and what did you learn?
Cheers,
P.S. Did you miss my first post about rediscovering Wheel of Time? Catch it here.
We realized over the weekend that the easiest way to explain why 12 strangers were flying across the country to visit a library and an old tree was simply to call ourselves a book club. It worked on my chiropractor.
Also true, and something I love about this fandom is that we each bring our own criticisms to these books we love. I don’t love these books in a way that is infallible. I know they are flawed. Everything human is. And I love them anyway.
It turns out fermentation is actually a key part of my creative process, and not one I’m going to feel guilty about any more. Maybe I’ll write more about this another day.
