It’s all a bit blurry…
C.E. Grundler
Last week I’d posted about how elements of my writing have spilled over into my daily life. They’re not obvious to the casual observer, but to anyone who has read my books, they might realize who, in fact my boat is named after, and more importantly, why. Hint: it has something to do with the sanity of taking on a project like her, or the lack thereof. And even the little bit of ink now proudly and permanently displayed on my arm – a simple and somewhat whimsical sea monster – holds a significance linked directly to my writing. But it goes both ways, and as Christine commented, sometimes the lines between fiction and reality can get a bit blurry.
As writers, our work springs from our imagination. Even as I’m going about my day-to-day business, my muses are on a scavenger hunt for ideas. Working in a marina means they don’t have to look far, at least for the sort of writing I do. In-tee-rest-ing customers and engines in need of overhaul, the smell of gear oil in the morning and the view of a thunderstorm engulfing the mountains across the river, the material is never-ending. Throw in more years of my own personal experiences than I prefer to admit, toss in a side of strange headlines I’ve tripped over, a dash of inspiration from reading other authors that I could only wish I wrote as well as, and mix well with a bit of wine and/or dark rum, and the ideas take form. Plot lines take shape and grow in that primordial ooze that is my mind, springing to life at odd hours of the morning, when I wake and fumble for my glasses, then ultimately scribble down illegible notes in the dark. There’s an added bonus if I can decipher my writing come morning, when I wake and try to translate it into something intelligible. I know some writers focus on classes and exercises, or head off to retreats and conventions. I might try those someday, though right now I can hear my muses snickering at the thought. No, they’d rather be strolling along the breakwater and feeling the damp wind off the river than to be cooped up in some room somewhere. They want reality, and large doses of it, so they can weave it into their fictional world.
The view from my corner of the river.
I realize it’s different for every writer. What works for me won’t work for the next guy, and vice-versa. And that’s not saying it even works for me all of the time. The last year’s been a rough one, but my muses and I are back on good terms these days, so I’m letting them have their fun. There’s no right road to writing, so long as you’re on a path that leads you to words on a page. Sometimes that path meanders away from the keyboard for a stretch. You can look at it like cooking – you can plan and consider recipes till the end of time, but if you really want something tasty, sometimes you need to get out of the kitchen and go shopping for fresh ingredients. Those ingredients, those experiences, are what makes our lives as writers, and therefore our writing, that much richer in the end. Even if, at times, it all gets a bit blurry.
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