As writers, we have the sense that the power in our writing is magic. We don’t think of ourselves as the deliberate, logical creators of the words we write; no, we tend to assume it’s all the work of a fey being whispering the words in our ears. As such, when it comes time to write, we can latch on to superstitions or gimmicks that we think drive the perfect words.
Mostly this happens because when we do, by some mysterious means, manage to write something we think is perfect, we assume something other than ourselves drove the creation. If we used a certain pen to write a manuscript, well, then, it must have been the pen, and we’ll never use another kind. If we were wearing those fuzzy slippers when we wrote that perfect chapter, then they are lucky slippers, and we’ll wear them again next time.
Those, however, are the rather normal superstitions. Others include writing each manuscript in a new spot, or, the superstition goes, the spirits of the last work will interfere with the progress of the new work. Or how about this one: no chapter may have thirteen pages, or the entire work will fail. A pluviophile (someone who loves rain) will only write when it is raining, and one writer had to smell rotten apples while writing.
Certainly, at times, when we are really “on,” the words do flow as if spoken by an unseen force. And at other times, nothing you can do will make the words form themselves the right way. But, though I’m not normally one to knock superstitions (I rather like them), really, it’s not the fetish that’s behind the good parts of your writing. You know what it really is? It’s you.
Yes, horrible and frightening as it is, you and your own mind are the power behind your good writing. The talisman you rely on may, indeed, put you in a mind to write or give you the sense of safety that you need to write well, but believe it or not, good writing can happen without them.
For example, when I was in college, I wrote very little. My excuse was that I needed an uninterrupted block of time to write, and with classes, studying, and work, I just didn’t have that time (so I said). I knew this was an excuse, and I finally admitted it when I found out that the writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote his work One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich while imprisoned in the Soviet Gulag. According to legend, he wrote a few pages each day, memorized what he had written, and then destroyed the evidence.
Well, color me ashamed. If Solzhenitsyn could write while in a brutal prison, I upbraided myself, what’s your excuse?
The fact is, if you are relying on a gimmick to help you write, then you really don’t have faith in your own mind and powers. That’s the real issue with relying on a trick to produce good writing. For the time may come when the pen you love is discontinued, or you may have to move to a desert. Will the writing stop then, or will you learn to rely on your own mental powers? And if you can do it in that circumstance, can you do it now?