Yes, I admit it. I went there. I named my subconscious.
What I can’t believe is that I blabbed about it.
(And yes, I know it’s not midnight here. Indulge me. If you read Wild Cards, you know I have no power over Sixties rock lyrics.)
Anyway, Emma Dog and I went to walk in one of our favorite hangouts this evening, and I ran into local author and illustrator Betsy James (who apparently was a walking fool today.) She didn’t recognize me at first. You kind of have to get used to that when you drop 70+ pounds in a very short time. Also I was wearing my beloved New Mexico – Land of Enchantment painter’s cap, which I wear to walk and no place else, which I’m sure didn’t help.
Once she recognized me she told me she was glad to see me up and looking good after my illness. She also said my ears should burn frequently, because she’s been quoting me a lot. Naturally I pressed for details. She told me she’s been passing onto aspiring writers my advice to let go, let Leo.
In some surprise I asked where I’d blurted that out. She said it was on a panel at Bubonicon. I have vague memories of that; I seem to recall Walter Jon Williams was on it, too.
(And, no, it’s not too early to start pimping Bubonicon 42. It’s happening August 27-29, for carp’s sake!)
To the – hazy – extent of my recollection, I trotted out my concept of the writer’s trance. This is a state I enter when I’m totally focused on writing, and words flow freely. Rather to my surprise, not only did no one point at me and screech, “He’s mad, I tell you – mad!“, but everybody on the panel admitted to experiencing the same thing – when things were going well.
Thus emboldened I guess I saw fit to trot out my sometimes mantra, let go – let Leo. Meaning, I find it far more productive, rather than trying to force things, to cede them to my subconscious and just go. Which I guess also left a favorable impression.
As far as it goes, I consider it pretty good advice. I know that most of my actual creation does not come from my conscious, rational mind. I don’t reason my way to a good scene or bit of characterization. Whether the true creative elements originate in my subconscious, or the subconscious merely mediates, is another matter; I’ve come to believe, as I note a lot of other creators do, that creativity originates outside me entirely. That doesn’t actually matter: what does matter is how the writing and I both benefit when I, well, let go, let Leo.
I’m not ashamed of giving my subconscious a nickname. As I told my shrink this very afternoon, I’m a man who likes to give things names. What I found vaguely embarrassing, and unsettling, was to be reminded I’d actually told people my pet name for my subconscious.
In other news, Emma was distrustful of Betsy, which I fear slightly hurt Ms. James’s feelings. The fact is, unless Emma knows you well enough to trust and approve of you, you’re automatically on her Watch List. And really, can a professional bodyguard take for granted that a pleasant, blameless lady half the principal’s size doesn’t constitute a threat?
Yes. Yes she can. But try telling Emma that.
Emma also amused me today by being, as she is, very particular about where she gets in the ditch to drink and wade. She’s a very smart girl, and I’m glad she’s so choosy: if I have to deadlift her chunky Lab ass back onto dry land I’m seriously going to feel as if I’m Julius Caesar and it’s the Ides of Stab.
As it was I almost sniveled on our walk when, a few feet into it I got hit with nasty chest pains. A very recent, and welcome, development is that my chest no longer hurts all the time. But when it does, it can really loosen the set-screws on the old knees.
But because I had trouble sleeping for several days, and hence was too tired to get out for a walk with Emma for two days in a row (slept much better last night, thank you for asking), I persevered. And I was glad, because a cloudy evening is a lovely time to walk in my North Valley. Even if we got rained on some.
Then again it wasn’t pissing down so much as God’s incontinence, so no biggie.
And welcome to the (real) first day of summer!
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Being the first line of defense is (and has been for millennia) a dog’s job. Not necessarily to attack, but to make doggamned sure you know about the perceived threat.
Good dog, Emma.
Watch those chest pains. (Yeah, I know – like I should talk…)
- M. (\”/)
Emma is a good dog indeed. As early-warning system as well as protector. And as a pal and companion.
It’s popular to say dogs should have jobs – even something to it, probably. Her self-appointed job is very definitely as my bodyguard. Which I appreciate, although should we ever be beset by malefactors, she’s not the one they should worry about.
Of course in her mind I have the security consciousness of a newly hatched duckling. “Dad! Don’t you see? That young woman could totally have an UZI in that stroller! Pay attention! Dad!”
I find it endlessly amusing how visibly exasperated she gets: “What a maroon! He’s gonna get his dumb monkey butt killed. And then they’ll be all, ‘Emma is a bad dog, she failed to protect him.’ And I’ll be all – wait – I won’t be all anything, because I can’t speak English! Dammit.“
Oh, and, thanks, and don’t worry. I’m familiar with these chest pains. All. Too. Familiar.
I think that feeling of channeling your subconscious is pretty common. I often feel like my best ideas are “provided” to me from somewhere else and not from my own mind. It really is like your subconscious cranks away in the background until it resonates with some pattern, and it is so pleased with itself that it just has to broadcast it into your consciousness. Certainly giving your subconscious lots to work with and giving it patience and time to digest is an important component.
Elizabeth Gilbert had a pretty good TEDS talk along similar lines.
Ah, Steve, you just keep helpin’!
When I wrote the piece – and for that matter, IIRC, when I talked about the subconscious and the sense that “creativity” is a process quite external to me – I had that Elizabeth Gilbert TEDS talk in mind, as well as Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art. I was just too lazy to hunt it down when I posted.
Thanks for picking me up, here, big guy!
Your explanation for what the subconscious is getting up to (that scamp!) is certainly plausible. Like Gilbert and Pressfield, I personally feel the subconscious taps into a quite external source – a sort of pool of creativity, what Napoleon Hill calls “Infinite Intelligence,” and what Christians call the Holy Spirit.
Of course the external nature of creativity can neither be proven nor disproven. It doesn’t matter. Nor does it matter whether creativity comes from outside us or from inside us. What matters to me is that when I believe that creation channels through my subconscious, from whatever its source, and act on that belief – when I let go, let Leo – I am happier, I produce more, and what I produce is better. And, well, I make more money.
Thanks again for the comment, and the link!
Totally feel you on the trance thing, which is why I will write with the TV on for a fear to look up and realize it is 4am, then decide to work for another few minutes and see that it’s dawn. Because it totally happened a lot when I lived in Florida and we didn’t own a TV. When I start hearing infomercials I know it is time to walk away from the laptop.
Also, I quoted you this weekend as well! In talking on a panel about writer’s block I mentioned your system of deciding to write just 5 words every day because that is a stupid, no-brainer amount to be able to accomplish and if you can’t commit to FIVE MEASLY WORDS you should just stop now. The NaNoWriMo crowd was in full force there and quibbled that real writers should push for like 500 a day! And completely missed my point, well, your point.
BUT vindication as several people have come up to me later and said that the technique was BRILLIANT! And I answer: Of course it is, it comes from a guy with 100+ books to his (many) name(s)!
OBVIOUSLY, it works.
And lastly, and only tangentially related, I have sent in my guest paperwork for Archon so you’ll be seeing me, Matt, and my bump in October! I should be looking quite like I swallowed a prize pumpkin by then.
Yeah. I’ve got a related dilemma. Make it a principle never to spurn Inspiration, though I don’t (and cannot) rely on it. But sometimes it hits me when I’m just too flakin’ tired to keep my eyes open. I’ve learned from dire experience that sleep is needful for real productivity, so on such occasions I just let go. (And, yeah, let Leo.)
Of course, sometimes Inspiration won’t let me sleep. So I allow the Muse to boot my sorry ass out of bed and go write.
This needs to be a blog post. In The Fullness of Time.
Cool about the Five Words technique; thanks for sharing the story. In terms of the “NaNoWriMo crowd” I’d observe: one size never fits all. Which wisdom they might do well to consider themselves.
(I also believe no one – no one – has any goddam business at all lecturing either you or me about what “real writers” do, but that’s still another rant.)
Glad to hear Five Words worked for some. That’s all that can be asked. And gratifying to hear.
I greatly look forward to seeing you, Matt, and the Undisclosed at Archon. Love you kids.
[...] concerns So we know Emma’s my bodyguard. And we know she takes the job seriously. Which pleases me, on the whole. Still, I’m happy [...]