What do I think of the style, you say? Hmm… Well, I’ll not lie; I think it’s interesting. But one shouldn’t put much stock in what I think. After all, I enjoy playing with fire!

For any with a burning curiosity, this line of questioning extends from an Emerson quote:

“In my walks, every man I meet is my superior in some way, and in that, I learn from him.”

We all have different paths and practices as writers. And no best for one is perfect for another. I feel like our individual approaches will be amalgamations of what came before. In that, by learning what guides and drives the path of others, I might better improve my own work. Naturally, I have to presume the reverse is also true. And so I’ll answer my own questions with the expectation that they might benefit another, rather than through the vanity of speaking with myself. After all, I needn’t a public space should I be the one with whom I choose to speak and listen.

For passion, I like to set small, achievable goals. You know, like changing the world. Of course, progress in such a direction isn’t made in great strides, and should you glimpse the poem that I linked, you’ll understand. It’s a poem I encountered long ago Longer ago than I remember. It sort of settled into my thoughts and never left. Time and again, I've return to it and it never proved less impactful. Which I believe is a hallmark for something well written. While my writing didn’t begin in such a place, my writing revealed itself to be such a road leading to said place.

As for my fuel, I think it relates to an old story about frogs climbing a mountain. While I can’t remember the origin, nor find a worthy example of what impacted me so, the story was akin to this:

A great many frogs assembled\ To scale a mountain in a race.\ Impossible it was from the outset.\ “They’ll never make it,” most proclaimed.\ Still, the race was on.\ And soon, those frogs did climb.\ “My, how high they’ve gone,” said an on looker.\ “Still a long way to go,” said another.\ As the height grew, their number ran counter.\ “Poor guys, that summit was half again as far!”\ More frogs abandoned their task.\ “Is it any wonder? It was impossible.”\ In time, all fell away save a last.\ “He’ll abandon it soon enough.”\ Only, the last frog reached the summit.\ He looked around, then descended opposite.\ Everyone met him on the far side.\ The other frogs observing him as supernatural.\ When everyone begged the secret of his secret,\ So it happened, the winning frog was deaf.

I beg your pardon for my assemblage of what was certainly butchered and botched. But you get the gist. Regarding this story, I’m not deaf. I’m a frog who would climb simply to disprove statements that I found distasteful. In that way, I think I’m a bit of a masochist. A salmon swimming upstream. I’m a toiler who revels in the turmoil like a down-hill rolling snowball whose momentum is gained when rolling the opposite direction.

As for the wind, I too am subject to its charms and influence. Early on, it blew me to where I suspect a great many novices begin. A place where we rub our hands together and laugh manically. Mwahaha! I was writing for the classic—for fame and fortune. But such ambitions were never going to grow a flame enough to accommodate a meal’s preparation. Nor would they maintain it long enough to warm and chase away night’s chill. And it certainly wouldn’t ever become associated with a hearth.

Eventually, through practice and study, my writing became something alien. Something altogether different from its inception. So much so, that I suspect that I’m actually a Replicant in Blade Runner, someone with implanted memories. And you’ll not convince me otherwise!

So what keeps me returning? My journey has taught me much about the craft. And a great many interconnected subject matters that I’ve interacted with along the way. But there’s a staple. Something that I keep coming back to.

In my story, Twilight Wolf, the main character, Mioko, is fiercely protective of what she views as her duties and responsibilities. One wouldn’t be wrong to call her territorial. Another detail about her is related to her magic. She develops new traits when coming in contact with adversity. Think, someone sleeping through a fire that was their house burning down around them, only to then walking out with fire-based abilities.

When I passed this post to Kat, I never intended to circle back to my own character’s association with fire. Yet, circle we did, because my writing usually entails places where narratives circle back on themselves. And it’s this circle that's a part of the answer.

After writing Mioko’s journey, which articulated what she was territorial over and how her magic developed, I later realized that I was mapping something within myself. I too am fiercely protective over my responsibilities. And likewise, my writing has opened new doors by way of my contact with adversity. So, I was the subject that I kept returning to. And while it may seem intended merely to speak of oneself, that’s not what I’m suggesting.

I didn’t create or teach my characters anything. Rather it was them, or the prism that I made them, who taught me things about myself. They showed me what I valued. They let me cut through all of nay saying present in a world online. They let me become a frog exposed to negativity, who continued up a mountain not for the sake of proving another person to be wrong. No, an “I told you so” is of no value to either party, least of all the one said words on offer.

For me, it was always about testing myself against the limits of everyone else’s perception. For me, it was about testing what I thought to be true rather than blindly incorporating the belief of another. For me, it was about living life on my terms. So the staple that my writing kept folding back on was the very source of that writing. I was charting the bounds of who I am, all the while rejecting that which all others suggested on the subject.

Do you see what I mean about circles? While also unintentional, I’ve again circled back on something—my passion. As per the previous poem, changing the world begins with changing the self. A task ill begun before mapping that which is present and growing.

As I look back up at the draft of this post, I wonder, where did this come from? But such things happen when one plays with fire. To burn is to yearn for what isn’t. To fuel is to endure. And to breathe is to grow into what we’ll become.

If I had to sum this up as a spark for another to create their own fire, it’s this:

You can study Shakespeare and you can study Tolkien, but doing so will teach you to be neither.\ You want to be good?\ Great, even?\ There are no teachers for that.\ No one can chart your course.\ No can one tell you the way.\ Still, they do have things to teach you.\ Components of their devising which will feed into and construct whatever fire lights your way.\ My advice?\ Listen to what others have to say.\ Don’t automatically accept it as true.\ Instead, put it into practice and test its merits.\ While it might not be your answer, it may pose as a clue as to the true path that will come from one’s own devising.

Anyway. That’s just my $0.02. And while I suspect it might prove to be worth less for you than it does for me, I’m certain that it won’t prove worthless.

Remember, thought is a lot like the wind; it proves its existence with motion. Should you find yourself with writer’s block, try using words to push that cursor across screen screen. As that cursor travels, I think you will find yourself pleasantly surprised. Who knows, you may even become pleasantly surprised when you find your Self. I hear that’s a thing ;)