My guest today is a delightfully quirky Scot, Malcolm Campbell. He's worked in and around the writing field for some years and has taught college level journalism and does book reviews for several sites. He has also written a wonderful story, The Sun Singer. Today he talks a bit about the writing process and his muse, who seems to a be a rather multi-talented being.Let’s get the obvious out of the way first: I was reared by dysfunctional alligators in the Everglades where I cut my teeth on panic grass, ate anhinga for dinner, and played cops and robbers with a Florida panther.
Potentially, I’m making that up. But if you’re a writer, you know this is what people think. Other than fate or flat out insanity, nothing else but this kind of upbringing can explain what environmental conditions cause writers to materialize.
Last October, my friend Chelle Cordero wrote an article in which she said, “Every now and then I feel like an alien living in my home. Often misunderstood, mostly tolerated and usually hidden away. When family members are asked what I do, their voices tend to lower, they avert their eyes and finally, after shuffling their feet, whisper in a clandestine tone – ‘She’s a writer.’”
I can identify.
While hearing voices inside my head and seeing things that haven’t happened seems completely normal to me, non-writers tend to think there’s something “a little off” about it. But then what would you expect from a guy who grew up in a real or imagined swamp?
Generally speaking, people understand quantum mechanics, psychology and aquatic macrophytes and rocket science. But they don’t understand writing. They actually come up to me during funerals and/or on busy street corners and ask why I write and where my ideas come from.
My short answer is “psychotherapy.”
Since people think I’m making that up or being purposefully obtuse, they go away and don’t ask me again. Sometimes I hear them talking amongst themselves, “Hey, you see that guy over there; his best friend was a Florida Panther. Now we know why they’re on the endangered list.”
Unfortunately, the truth of the matter about why I write and where my ideas come from sounds a lot more dramatic than it is. While it really is psychotherapy, you know, due to my childhood, etc., the whole writing session shebang is just me sitting at my desk wondering what the hell I think I’m doing. I know one thing from experience: my feelings about myself and the subject matter of the story won’t become clear until all has been said and done.
My writing sessions are psychotherapy sessions with my muse. She's the analyst; I'm the analysand. There's libido there before my appointment begins, energy of some kind, and when I tell my muse what it is, she knows--because we're sitting face to face--that I will stall before I come to the real point.
I've had dreams, whispers of intuition, and sensed the influence of archetypes, but I'm not yet sure whether I want to confront them directly. They are as yet unconscious, behind doors where shadows lurk. How will I be changed, by permitting full knowledge of them? I am seldom in a hurry to know.
As the heroes of myth traveled out into the unknown forests in search of treasure, the writer travels away from his ego into the vast and often forbidding landscape of himself to find the story he must tell. He tells the story to become whole. He tells it out of necessity rather than choice.
When I confront my stories face to face, I may see joy or beauty or frightening secrets. Then and only then do I know how I feel about them. While the reader may define the image as a novel, a short story, an essay, or as nonsense, I know it's a shard from the infinite mirror of my mind's eye.
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THE SUN SINGER, published in 2004, is a magical fantasy adventure about a young man who learns how to bend time, change the past and become the Sun Singer.
Potentially, I’m making that up. But if you’re a writer, you know this is what people think. Other than fate or flat out insanity, nothing else but this kind of upbringing can explain what environmental conditions cause writers to materialize.
Last October, my friend Chelle Cordero wrote an article in which she said, “Every now and then I feel like an alien living in my home. Often misunderstood, mostly tolerated and usually hidden away. When family members are asked what I do, their voices tend to lower, they avert their eyes and finally, after shuffling their feet, whisper in a clandestine tone – ‘She’s a writer.’”
I can identify.
While hearing voices inside my head and seeing things that haven’t happened seems completely normal to me, non-writers tend to think there’s something “a little off” about it. But then what would you expect from a guy who grew up in a real or imagined swamp?
Generally speaking, people understand quantum mechanics, psychology and aquatic macrophytes and rocket science. But they don’t understand writing. They actually come up to me during funerals and/or on busy street corners and ask why I write and where my ideas come from.
My short answer is “psychotherapy.”
Since people think I’m making that up or being purposefully obtuse, they go away and don’t ask me again. Sometimes I hear them talking amongst themselves, “Hey, you see that guy over there; his best friend was a Florida Panther. Now we know why they’re on the endangered list.”
Unfortunately, the truth of the matter about why I write and where my ideas come from sounds a lot more dramatic than it is. While it really is psychotherapy, you know, due to my childhood, etc., the whole writing session shebang is just me sitting at my desk wondering what the hell I think I’m doing. I know one thing from experience: my feelings about myself and the subject matter of the story won’t become clear until all has been said and done.
My writing sessions are psychotherapy sessions with my muse. She's the analyst; I'm the analysand. There's libido there before my appointment begins, energy of some kind, and when I tell my muse what it is, she knows--because we're sitting face to face--that I will stall before I come to the real point.
I've had dreams, whispers of intuition, and sensed the influence of archetypes, but I'm not yet sure whether I want to confront them directly. They are as yet unconscious, behind doors where shadows lurk. How will I be changed, by permitting full knowledge of them? I am seldom in a hurry to know.
As the heroes of myth traveled out into the unknown forests in search of treasure, the writer travels away from his ego into the vast and often forbidding landscape of himself to find the story he must tell. He tells the story to become whole. He tells it out of necessity rather than choice.
When I confront my stories face to face, I may see joy or beauty or frightening secrets. Then and only then do I know how I feel about them. While the reader may define the image as a novel, a short story, an essay, or as nonsense, I know it's a shard from the infinite mirror of my mind's eye.
-
THE SUN SINGER, published in 2004, is a magical fantasy adventure about a young man who learns how to bend time, change the past and become the Sun Singer."The Sun Singer is gloriously convoluted, with threads that turn on themselves and lyrical prose on which you can float down the mysterious, sun-shaded channels of this charmingly liquid story." Diana Gabaldon, A Breath of Snow and Ashes
In addition to his novel, Campbell’s writing has appeared in Nonprofit World, Living Jackson Magazine, Nostalgia Magazine, POD Book Reviews More http://podbram.blogspot.com/ and More, The Smoking Poet, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the Rosicrucian Digest. He has worked as a college journalism instructor, technical writer; grant writer and corporate communications director. You can visit Malcolm at his website http://www.malcolmrcampbell.com/.
