Last week we talked about short-circuiting doubt with a well-picked mantra you can repeat—my current favorite is the work is the way—but sometimes words aren’t enough.
Not even for writers.
Because mantras are a verbal defense and our inner critics are verbal beings. And if our inner critics are frightened enough or if our projects are important enough to us, a mantra can transform our inner critics into inner snarks who answer our mantras—even one as lovely as the work is the way—with, well, snark:
Is the work really the way?
And what work would this be exactly?
If the work were truly the way, wouldn’t you have a book out by now?
I have a few choice words for the inner snark, but Lafayette by way of Lin-Manuel Miranda says it best: “You are the worst, Burr.”
Enter talismans!
A traditional talisman is an object said to be imbued with magical power.
A writing talisman, however, can be any non-verbal touchstone—trinkets, sounds, scents—imbued with the magic you grant it to focus your mind on your writing.
During a road trip pitstop at a mom-and-pop shop somewhere in rural Maryland, my magpie heart fluttered at the sight of glass paperweights on display. Pulled in by the blue-green color of the nautilus, I walked around the store holding this glass doodad in my palm while my husband and I picked out snacks for the road. Before I knew it, I was at the register buying a paperweight1 I absolutely didn’t need along with the snacks we’d convinced ourselves we absolutely did need. 2
In the passenger seat, I kept the nautilus in my hand where the sun streaming through the window made the greens and blues even more vibrant. I couldn’t keep my eyes off this thing, so I did what every good nerdling does at times like these—I googled a bunch of nautilus trivia I needed to know even less than I needed to own a paperweight.
I’ll spare you the myriad details I absolutely did not spare my husband during that trip and skip straight to the detail that captured my imagination: the spiral pattern of the nautilus's shell is a result of this tenacious cephalopod's life work. Basically—and I’m no marine biologist so don't quote me—as its soft body outgrows the current chamber of its shell, the nautilus adds a larger chamber, shimmies into it, then seals itself into its new digs. The cycle repeats throughout the nautilus's life, leaving elder nautiluses (nautili?) with a spiral shell pattern that's not only beautiful but also one of nature’s best examples of a naturally occurring Fibonacci sequence.3 Although the spiral pattern means something very specific to biologists and mathematicians and spiritual leaders who point to the sacred geometry as evidence of a creator, to me the spiral in the blue-green nautilus was simply a version of my the work is the way mantra I could hold in my hand.
I immediately promoted this nautilus from paperweight I didn’t need to writing talisman, and it still sits on my desk to this day. When I start to fret that some scene isn’t working, one glance at that blue-green nautilus reminds me that the work is the way.
The nautilus paperweight wasn’t my first talisman, and it certainly wouldn’t be my last. Hell, it wouldn’t even be my last nautilus talisman—these days a nautilus painting hangs on the wall above my desk. Which isn’t to say my talismans are all nautiluses all the time. As the writer behind Hibou, I have an impressive collection of owl talismans, too. And as a writer committed to a playful writing process, my talismans change with my whims. Basically, anything that catches my eye and makes me think of my book is fair game.
My favorite talismans, though, are those specific to my novel in progress. I’m currently working on a novel about a female close-up magician who’s a fiend with a deck of cards, so many of my current talismans are related to playing cards. For a while the lock screen on my phone was an image of my protagonist’s favorite card4, so every time I picked up my phone I was reminded of my novel. I also wear a necklace made out of a the back of a cropped card bonded it to a piece of silver. Every time I look in the mirror, I see that cupid on a bike and think of my book. Thinking about my book is not the same as writing it, of course, but on a busy day when there’s not a lot of time to write, putting on a necklace that reminds me of my novel multiple times a day keeps my mind on my book more than it might have been without it.
Although I tend toward talismans I can touch, I sometimes use sounds and scents as talismans. There’s one candle scent I only burn when I’m making a hard push on my book. And though I can’t really listen to music with lyrics while I’m writing, I created a playlist inspired by my protagonist that I sometimes listen to while I walk.
If you’re getting the sense that you can turn anything you want into a writing talisman, that’s because you can. Ideally you want to pick a talisman that’s meaningful to you. This month you might be drawn to something so beautiful that looking at it makes you take a deep breath, but next month you might be drawn to something that makes you grin. A few years back I spent a month with a the notebook talisman I rescued from the budget bin at Target because the image on the cover tickled me:
But, you ask, isn’t using talismans just so much magical thinking?
Of course it is, but what of it? We writers are magical thinkers who regularly believe we can conjure worlds by sequencing twenty-six letters onto a page. If we need a little magical thinking about a paperweight—or a lit candle or a necklace or a silly notebook—to make that happen, then so be it.
Talismans aren’t magic potions we fervently believe will land us on the bestseller list; they’re metaphors to help us focus, and—if chosen wisely—they just might grace your writing practice with little more wonder and play.
Take Away from Mood Tools Week 7: The Power of Magical Thinking
Talismans aren’t magic potions we fervently believe will land us on the bestseller list; they’re metaphors to help us focus, and—if chosen wisely—they just might grace your writing practice with little more wonder and play.
Who does need a paperweight in this digital age?
We did not.
Basically a Fibonacci sequence is a series of numbers arrived by adding the two previous numbers—1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, etc.—that shows up in a number of patterns in nature, including the spirals formed by nautilus shells, hurricanes, and galaxies. Also in the patterns found in spiders webs, tree branches, and flower petals. If you want your mind blown, read this Smithsonian article on how Fibonacci shows up in the stock market. If you’d rather blow your mind with nature than economics, take a gander at the images called up by a Google search for “Fibonacci sequence in nature” here.
This was the wonderful Louise Miller’s idea. If you haven’t read THE CITY BAKER’S GUIDE TO COUNTRY LIVING and THE LATE BLOOMERS CLUB, check them out by clicking through to the links on the title!
Of course I'm a sucker for anything that mentions Fibonacci. But also, you haven't mentioned another category of talisman: the Edible Talisman! For a couple of years many years ago, my writing talisman was my lucky scone. I would get one from this bagel shop (yes, they sold scones too) and bring it back to my desk with a cup of coffee and THEN I could write.
I love the idea that talismans can change with time--and even that they can be eaten! There’s a certain incense that seems to get my creative juices flowing. A talisman for every sense!