Over Easter I was happy to see friends and family, exchange cards and small offerings of chocolate – although I don’t really know why chocolate. Packets of seeds or bunches of flowers would be far more appropriate and I did get a few of those – I guess corporate industry has manipulated us to its own profit yet again. During one of these visits I was asked about writing and my books, ‘where do you get your ideas and inspiration from?’
Oh dear! I wanted to make an intelligent and whip smart answer, proving my worth and ability but I could not. I had to confess the truth that ‘I don’t really know.’ I’ve been writing for so long; poetry, prose, short stories, magazine and newsletter articles, as well as producing small publications and corporate documents. It’s like another arm or leg, I do it without much consideration.
I’m considering it now!
The poet Ruth Stone (1915 – 2011) described her inspiration as something that she chased across the Virginia landscape, running like hell to catch the poem. If she was too slow to write it down the poem would pass through her to find another poet. She said she sometimes caught the tail of the poem and would write it in reverse.
Although I’ve never run across the Virginia landscape chasing a poem or idea, I do walk quietly in the forest and am often struck by an idea, a plot twist, a character expansion, a solution to a writing block etc,. The ideas and inspiration seem to appear out of nowhere, like a dandelion seed carried on the breeze and landing softly, un-noticed until it takes root. Sometimes they have to be wrestled to the ground, pinned down so I can get a good look at them before they escape and potentially run off to another author.
This impulse to write started with my Dad. He shared with me his love of the natural world and his love of reading. My favourite subjects at school were history and english and I wallowed in these too. My first published poem reflected the obvious influence of Ted Hughes:
Lupine lope, soft as snow,
Grey-on-white-on-brown
Ghost-glimpse through trees.
Siren yellow eyes devour the horizon,
and inward laughs a hungry grin,
or, in sombre moon-mood, sings.
Bunched muscle,
Bristle fur,
A flash of violence,
Wolf.
Although the influence is clear, it happened at an unconscious level. This poem is a good example of that Ruth Stone moment. I clearly remember waking in the middle of the night and writing the poem down exactly as it is here.
The book I’m currently writing, ‘No Time To Lose’, grew from an idea that I got during a course about writing with your muse. It started off as a story about a scholar in ancient Alexandria. It’s now become something much bigger, a glimpse into the past, and possibly the future, through the eyes of my protagonist Dr Elizabeth Cavendish.
My other project ‘Deepdene’ which I’m researching and developing, came from something as prosaic as a street name that I noticed while driving to an appointment! The word lodged silently in my brain to emerge months later as a new series, a vast in scope fantasy or perhaps alternate history may be more accurate.
It makes me wonder if ideas and inspirations are actually looking for a way into the world. Are they seeking us out? Do they pick and choose who to land in? Are they waiting for the opportune moment? Do these ideas sometimes land in the many other living creatures who share this planet with us?
Do trees sing songs of sunlight and new leaves that we can’t hear?
Does water chant a mantra of the journey it takes?
Do the mountains hum and rumble a deep, slow poem of geologic time too vast for us to comprehend?
And we’ve arrived back at Ted Hughes and his poem Hawk Roosting. One part in particular says it better than anything I can write.
‘It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:’
(I suggest you sit and think about what that truly means for a minute)
What a story the Hawk is!
It would be the ultimate arrogance for humans to think they are the only creatures that tell stories. We know that bees communicate in a variety of ways to other members of their colony, telling stories of flowers, nectar and pollen.
Our Cosmos is telling its story in every nebula, sun, planet and moon; in every blade of grass and butterfly; in every tree, river and bird; in humans.
So. To finally answer the question of where my ideas and inspiration come from: seeds twirling on the breeze, landing softly and unobserved until the first delicate root and leaf appear.
This blog post is 100% Human Authored
All pictures from Pixabay contributers