The Importance of Rest
I’m aware of the irony of making this post almost a year after the last one, which was about my crushing writer’s block. I’ve always been of the opinion that creative blocks aren’t just random, unlucky lightning strikes of misfortune. They happen for reasons, the reason being either
You’re in survival mode and have no time or energy to write
You’re in a state of clinical depression and have no will to write
You’re artistically wrung out and have nothing left in the tank to put on the page
I was at number 3 over the summer, which I knew. So eventually I just…let it be.
I went to Ireland and England to research the novel. The trip blew my mind wide open on just how ridiculous it was for me to think I could write Hand Magic without experiencing its settings firsthand.
Ireland was absolutely incredible. The sights-per-square-mile of country is absolutely unbelievable. It’s packed with historical sites and museums, ancient relics and ruins. I don’t think I have enough memory on my website plan to sufficiently explain all of it, but suffice to say I left with my head packed and spinning. Same with Eastbourne, Stonehenge, and Parliament over in England. Going places with the intention of learning everything you can about them is certainly a different way to travel. I must say, I’m into it.
I graduate from my Master’s Program this month; thus, much of the year post-Ireland trip was spent on my coursework, my independent study, and working my butt off trying to keep the bills paid and myself in the adequate lifestyle to which I’ve grown accustomed. And you know what’s weird?
I’ve been happy. Satisfied. Calm in a way I haven’t been in a very long time. A lot of that is the drug trial I entered for clinical depression, which started me on a medication that outperforms my old ones by light-years.
Hey. Pro-tip. If you’re thinking about maybe switching your meds because things are like…fine, but not great? DO IT. And do it now. I regret waiting so long, but mostly I’m just happy to be stable and content like this.
*proceeds to insert the weirdest photo ever taken of a human being*
Also, a lot of it is just being busy. I learned the hard way last summer that I’m a person that doesn’t thrive while idle. Even if “busy” is working a retail job for eight hours, then biking to three different houses in three different neighborhoods to feed three different cats. Or a month later, going to 9 am aerial straps class, walking two dogs, going to class, then fixing 3D printers until dark. Or now, validating product ideas for my nascent artisan woodworking business and frantically CAD-ing my fake Walkman music player due in three weeks.
Monotony is the enemy of growth. So I’ve strived (strove?) to keep myself busy, but not at risk of burning out. And I’ve nailed it pretty hard, if I do say so myself. Which is why, when I unexpectedly found out about a promising writing workshop opportunity, I was both excited and terrified.
“What happens if I open a Word Document for the first time in 8 months and write garbage?”
“What happens if I put the cursor to page and no words come out?”
“What happens if I do this, nail it, get into this workshop, and then have to commit to completing the second draft of the novel that nearly took my head off the last time I tried?”
These thoughts flashed through my head for maybe an hour or two. Then I went for the send. I’m a big fan of do it and fail, versus don’t do it and never know.
By the way, this all went down in mid-March in Tongariro National Park on the North Island of New Zealand, where I scored a lucky round-trip flight for just 70k miles during spring break. So, beneath the roof of one of the many alpine huts run by New Zealand’s Department of Conservation, in a flimsy red elementary school exercise notebook I bought for 3 NZ dollars at a Woolworth’s in Auckland, I began writing the first chapter of Hand Magic.
A different first chapter. One I’d been planning for awhile, but was too fried to make any headway on. This first chapter starts earlier than my other like, forty first chapters, and in a different place than my protagonist’s house or the recruitment center where she tests positive for magic. As Leigh Bardugo told the sold-out crowd in February 2024 at her NYC Union Square book-signing, “Establish the flow of power in your world early on, and vividly.” I’m writing a book that is, at its core, about Jews and magic. So the book starts where it must: in the small, impoverished Jewish village over the hill from the protagonist’s small, impoverished Catholic village, where she does odd jobs for the residents each Saturday morning during Shabbat.
It’s the first place the readers encounter the protagonist. It’s the first place the protagonist encounters magic. And it’s magic so mundane and everyday that it barely even matters at all.
Writing the chapter was difficult, but not impossible. I was out of practice. I was using a child’s exercise notebook. I lost a lot of time due to hiking out of the wilderness in a mountain storm and bussing back to Auckland where I’d left my laptop. To help counter this, I invented a writing method I call “piece-meal,” where I wrote each bit that I knew had to happen, then connected them all when I had then energy to do it. I put the bits in the notebook. I connected them on my computer once I got back to civilization. Two twelve-hour days of work. One additional day of five-hours of work when I read the submission requirements a little closer and realized they wanted a one-page synopsis.
FML.
But! Get this! Writing the one-page synopsis helped the second draft plot finally, finally fall into place. I knew I was just kidding myself trying to graft my old plot onto my new power dynamics and internal journey for my MC, but I couldn’t see how to solve the problems. But after 8 months of not looking at it, after 8 months of rest, of allowing my brain to form quiet connections and pathways I couldn’t actively form while working on the novel, I saw things I’ve never seen before. I was able to pick up on what wasn’t working, and for the first time as writer, know how to fix it.
My summary makes sense now. One thing leads to the next thing leads to the next thing. The tipping points are sensible. The plot points are logical. They’re all there for a purpose. I cut out the stuff from my old plot that doesn’t work anymore. I finally knew what to cut, and what to put instead. After I’d finished the application, I had to go walk it off and journal about it over a literal pile of gelato on Ponsonby Street, then I fell into bed exhausted at 9:30 pm.
My travels are never dull, just saying.
At whatever point I have time and energy to put up blog posts about Ireland and England, I will. Now though? I have more chapters to write! And so many other things to do on top of that! Things are good right now, and I’m happy.
Until next time,
Claire xx
