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Words that have made a difference in your life: Discover what made you a novelist
"and" "what made you a writer?" are two ever-present interview squestions. I' m not even thinking about their responses anymore. Our early influence as an artist was more than just the first dominos on our travels. These were more than "just" minting. These were the experience that made us the men and authors we have become.
Some of these factors are conscious: some of them can remember a certain script or film in which they say: "I want to be a novelist. I spoke last weeks about how much I was influenced by the ethology of Light the Dark: Inspiration, and the Arts Process. Thousands of artists told what they found influential in their own early readings and then explained why and how they had influenced their work.
In his preface, editor Joe Fassler explained: "I ask the working artist (many of them writers) to select a favourite part of the literary world that has struck them the most. Of course I commend the work. As well as last week's inspirational contribution on the 4 motivations we are writing, it also led me to take a close look at my own early influence - and to try my hands at selecting and testing my own shape.
Light the Dark makes it so simple for the assembled writers to find their clues. The most of them seemed to know immediately which of the passages had influenced them most - as if they were carrying it around in the hot room under their heart and were overwhelmed to gently extract and part it.
In the evening, when I was reading this volume, I often sat in confusion. Which were my early inspirations? Was that my input? Is it really something I had been reading a little later when my taste began to age? What about the countless classics I have been reading and loving - Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Charles Dickens, Joseph Conrad?
Because when I invented tales in my early years, I called them "my films". Perhaps it was Robin Hood or Indiana Jones or The Great Escape. Then I should be able to further limit it to a section that influenced my entire artistry?
I started to be less inspiring than more. However, then I came to the last article, by Neil Gaiman, in which he happily subdued the whole premises of the book: you don't even necessarily know where all your influence comes from or what it can mean, and neither should you.
They' re composting anyway, good effects, no difference how old you are. So are the good ones. So I began to think about the issue from a different perspective. Rather than trying to find the one thing that led me on my travels, I began to think about what makes me a narrator.
Which tales do I have to tell - and where do they come from? What am I doing tellin' these things? I would have said for many years that it was my favourite textbook. But, although I haven't seen it in years, I'm still touched by the thought of this work - especially the life scenes cited in this section.
If I think of this battle and imagine the spectators, the pictures I see are still those lively iteration that are based on N.C. Wyeth's beautiful illustration and Jane Porter's words. Today, when I chose to take the notebook off my shelves to re-read the dark part I had selected, I even amazed myself.
To a certain extent my selection of this volume was coincidental - and my selection of this particular section even more coincidental. Looking at the work I have done over the years - thinking of the tales that are still in my mind awaiting being recounted - exploring the tales of others that attract and move me the most - I find that they are unavoidably the tales that divide the profound archetypical shot of epic icon.
They' re tales of fraternity. They' re tales of victims. They' re tales of how you lay down your lives for your boyfriends and your cause. They' re tales of cursed, scars on loners. It' tales of exceptionally talented individuals and the unavoidability that much is demanded of those who have a lot.
They' re tales of the redemptive value of relationship. There' s nothing wrong with this one part of one of the oldest tales I can recall. Although I was looking for my early influence, I frankly didn't see it comin. I find it helpful to reconcile all the many other factors that have shaped my artistry.
Now everything makes more sense: the final archetype in Star Wars, the lonely characters of John Ford's idealist Western, the topical profundity of Robin Hood's avenues. As different as they may be, they are all part of a line that points me to every history I have ever made, or, I think, will ever make.
You probably know that if you regularly check this diary, it's about the sub-text. My aim is to follow the concealed, often unconscious meaning - in histories and also in the world. So it' s no wonder that I consider researching my own influencing factors to be an extremely rewarding undertaking.
It has given me a lot to think about when it comes to better understand why I feel attracted to the kind of story I do. Jim Crace writes in his Light the Dark essay: They are not made by sending them to an MFA in bloody writings. My young granddaughter had her first meeting this weekend with one of my own childrenhood favourites - Disney's inspired Robin Hood.
As the movie reaches the spot where Robin Hood seems to be drowning, she starts crying and continues until her mother hurries to get to the point where Robin survived. Memorizing it or not, she had only one defining experi¬ence. Is she going to be writing about Robin Hood one day? Is she going to live her own lives around tales of self-sacrifice?
However, it was formed just as our readership cannot help but be formed when they come across our histories. Today I feel called upon and motivated to continue carrying the flare. And the writers who inspire us gave each one of us a glimmer. We use these sparkles to start another fire every single times we excavate deeply and divide sincerely, every single times we take the necessary care to produce with all the clearness and enthusiasm we can bring.
Today, however, when you are sitting down to type, I ask you to remember: someone will do it. You go burn the darkness.