Talkin Shop: The Pure Stream Flows

But turn from my tongue, o gods,
the madness of these men,
and from hallowed lips let a pure stream flow.

Empedocles

In my time of writing, I've completed more than 40 short stories and two novels (with a third novel that expanded to 260-280,000 words before I had to walk away from for mental and spiritual health), and several novellas in between that mix.

This past week I've knocked out the better part of another (almost 40k words since late Fri/Early Sat). Although it is very first draft sort of material, parts of it are among the best things I've ever written.

Which brings me to the reason of this post (the intent is less clear to me right now). I suspect this may be true with other writers but is certainly so with me: every time I write something that is shiver-worthy, I think, Where did this come from? and Thankfully, I'm the faucet for this, and How will I ever write something this phenomenal again?

Then, at some point, I write something else that is shiver-worthy and end up with the same trio of questions again, and for a few moments, am absolutely sure nothing I write will ever drip with such epiphanic dew again.

Until the next time it does.

It just amazes me that this has been a recurrence since 1991 when I wrote my first novel (the last couple of lines of which are still among the best things I've ever written) and my first really solid stand-on-its-own short story. I learned a lot from them and in the gulf of time between then and now.

In this novella/novel I've been recording these past six days, I've written some great material. And a few of them triggered those old, familiar questions.

Ah, the wondrous, fucked-up, glorious life of creativity.

There's a celestial reservoir of story-water in the universe. And sometimes, I'm fortunate enough to be a faucet through which that pure stream flows.

Thank you, O muse who sings^* to me. Thank you.

I look forward to as many more years of this as possible.



^* Ok. My muse doesn't so much sing to me as whispers sacred mysteries in the velvet hush of unknown tongues.

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